


point blank

by lifefindsaway



Series: one hell of a start [1]
Category: Marvel
Genre: 1872 (Marvel), Alternate Universe - Western, F/M, Get Together, M/M, Minor Character Death, Recovery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:41:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27550051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifefindsaway/pseuds/lifefindsaway
Summary: 1872. Steve Rogers is a nomad in search of purpose. While passing through the town of Timely, a mix-up leaves him taking care of an injured Bucky Barnes and taking on the role of sheriff. Has Steve finally found a reason to settle down?
Relationships: Ben Parker/May Parker (Spider-Man), James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson
Series: one hell of a start [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2013793
Comments: 83
Kudos: 91
Collections: Not Another Stucky Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [infearfulday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/infearfulday/gifts).



> My fic for NASBB 2020, in collaboration with my incredible artist, [Stucky1980](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stucky1980), who has created absolutely the most _gorgeous_ art far above and beyond my wildest dreams. Also, a very special thanks to my amazing beta, [RiskyWrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiskyWrites), for the tremendous encouragement and support! 
> 
> I blame this fic on [infearfulday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/infearfulday) and too much time spent on RDR2 during quarantine.

It was hot as hell, and just about as dry. Steve tipped his canteen back and forth; he didn’t have a whole lot of water left. He hadn’t had much to start out, truth be told, but it had been a cool, dewy morning. He’d thought it was going to be an easy trek. He hadn’t expected a heat so intense the grass crunched beneath his horse’s hooves. Not since they’d set out that morning had they seen another living creature—including any sort of tree that might’ve provided some relief from the sun. Fortunately, a river carved a crude path through the terrain just ahead. It wouldn’t take him too far off the beaten path to stop over to cool down. 

“Ready for a break, girl?”

She huffed but was too good to toss her head. Steve grinned and leaned forward in the saddle, patting her firmly. She had bravely soldiered on for him all day, but he could tell she was wearing out. It’d been a while since either of them had made a ride like this. The last few weeks had been easy travel from one decently sized town to the next, always a hotel to stay in, or a comfortable place to set up camp. Until now, of course. Nothing was close to Pleasant Hill, or so the locals said, except the train track. Well, now Steve knew very well what they meant. He’d followed the train track out of town assuming it’d eventually lead him to the next stop. It hadn’t yet.

They came to the river’s edge and Steve rolled his shoulders, stretching, then climbed down. It felt good to have his feet on solid ground again. As nice as riding was, it tended to leave him sore and stiff. He rooted around his saddlebag and tucked a bandana in his pocket, then took his canteen and knelt by the water. The water was murky, but not so muddied it stopped him from leaning forward to scoop water in his mouth, eyes slipping shut as it soothed his dry throat and settled comfortably in his stomach. He had another three or four greedy mouthfuls, then dipped the canteen under the water. His horse nosed at the grass, which wasn’t quite as dead as the grass a few feet away but didn’t linger long before shuffling forward to join him. She splashed him as she drank noisily, huffing loudly as she stuck her head in the water.

“Not half bad,” Steve agreed. He slipped the bandana from his pocket and soaked it in the water, tucking it under his collar to cool his neck.

“Not half good either, but you ain’t likely to get sick, if that’s what you mean.” 

Slowly, Steve capped his canteen and sat back on his heel. He looked over his shoulder to find an old man to his left, a few paces back. He was on a tall, strong black horse that looked like a workhorse. He’d tipped his hat back a little revealing a weathered face hardened to the climate and wary of strangers. He was studying Steve carefully; he hadn’t pointed the rifle resting across his saddle horn at Steve, but the point was clear enough: I don’t trust you.

“Figure I’ve had worse,” Steve said with a small smile. “Can I help you, mister?”

“I was wondering if I could maybe help you,” the man said. He spoke pleasantly enough, though he didn’t return Steve’s smile immediately. “I’m not accustomed to finding people down here. Are you lost, son?”

“I’m coming from Pleasant Hill. Thought I’d eventually strike gold if I kept after the train. They told me there was another town out here somewhere.”

That did earn him a little smile. “As it so happens, you’re close. Timely’s up ahead a few miles. If you’d gone any further north or west, you might’ve missed it. Far as I know—and I should, I’ve lived here my whole life—you’d be out of luck after that. No other towns for days in either direction.”

“I am lucky, then.” Steve got up, brushing dust and dirt from his clothes and tucked his canteen into his saddlebag. He still moved slowly, aware of the man’s rifle. “You mind if I follow you back? Assuming you’re heading back now, that is.”

“I am, and you can.” The man nodded. He seemed to relax a fraction, satisfied, Steve supposed, that there was no imminent threat. “The name’s Ben Parker.”

“I’m Steve Rogers,” Steve said. “I’m mighty glad I ran into you out here, Mr. Parker. I was starting to lose hope. We’ve been on the road for hours. I was starting to think I’d cook to death out here.”

“Please, call me Ben.” Ben put away his rifle and waited until Steve had remounted, then casually picked the way back to the road running parallel to the train track. “Yes, sir, we sure are isolated out here, but plenty of us like it that way.”

“Heat and all, huh?”

“Heat and all. It’s murder on the plants and animals, but, the way I see it, summer’s hard everywhere. At least here it’s familiar.”

That was true enough. In closing in on thirty years, Steve had never seen a summer that wasn’t hard. It seemed different out here, though; Steve was used to cities. Hell, he’d been born in a city. Since he’d packed up and set off on his own, though, all he’d seen was a sort of meanness he’d only read about, once upon a time. Pleasant Hill, which had been the nicest place he’d seen in weeks, still had been a far cry from what he was used to. In fact, it had hardly earned the title of “settlement” it was so roughed out and unfinished. He suspected Timely was going to be much the same—if not worse.

Steve kept pace with Ben. His horse felt a little fresher, stepped a little livelier. The break had been good for her, at least.

“What brings you out this way, Steve?”

Steve was quiet a beat thinking about that. He had no problem telling the truth. He had been raised an honest man and preferred honesty from others. But even if he’d been ready to cry about his woes to a stranger, no matter how kind Ben Parker seemed, he wouldn’t know where to start. 

As though sensing his hesitance, Ben quickly added, “Each man’s business is his own. So long as you don’t plan on starting trouble, we’ll get on just fine.”

“No, sir. I don’t plan on starting trouble. In fact, that’s the last thing in the world I want,” Steve assured him. “I can promise you that.”

“Then we’ll get on just fine.” Ben cleared his throat. “As a matter of fact, my homestead’s not that far out of town. You’d be more than welcome to come by for dinner, if you’re so inclined. The town drinking hole, I’m sorry to say, isn’t always the most hospitable place.” He made a face that made Steve wonder what, exactly, he was thinking about. “I spent the morning bringing in some of our summer crop, so we’ll have plenty. And my wife makes the best biscuits for a hundred miles around. Do with that what you will.”

“That’s very kind of you, Ben. I’d be happy to come by.”

“May’ll like the company. She always says I ought to ask people over more.”

“She sounds like a fine woman.”

“Far too good for the likes of me,” Ben laughed.

They rode in companionable silence. Steve wiped at a line of sweat trailing down his forehead and wondered if he might prevail upon Ben and May for the use of a bathtub. He wouldn’t need hot water, he thought. Just a filled tub that he could use to cool down. He squinted against the sun. Maybe he’d shave, too. His facial hair was hot against his cheeks and chin. His bandana was still damp under his collar but wasn’t cooling him as much as he’d hoped. He jerked it out from under the edge of his shirt and wiped his face, held it against his overheated cheeks.

Distantly, the screech of the train whistle cut through the quiet. The ground rumbled beneath their horses’ feet as the train approached. Steve felt the vibrations from the soles of his boots to the base of his spine. He reseated himself in the saddle and tightened his grip on the reins. His horse was well-seasoned and didn’t spook easily anymore. Still, neither of them enjoyed the deafening roar of a close train and he could feel her tense beneath him. 

“Hey!”

“Hey, you!”

Steve shot a glance over to the train, eyes narrowing. The door of the train car nearest them had been thrown up part way, and in the shady interior there were two men waving at Steve and Ben. One of them held a good-sized canvas bag while the other frantically waved a white piece of cloth. Steve thought it might be a shirt.

“Just take it!” the man waving the shirt yelled. Upon closer inspection, Steve could see that it was a shirt. The man had taken it off but put his jacket back on. It was a bizarre look.

“What?” Ben called back, bemused.

“We ain’t gonna fight, honest! Take it!” The man with the bag tossed it at them, then started shouting for the engineer to hurry the train up. 

Ben stopped, the train screaming by, while Steve doubled back to retrieve the bag. It had landed heavily near them but rolled down a slight incline towards the river. It had a fair heft to it. Steve raised an eyebrow. When he joined Ben near the track again, Ben’s mouth was pressed in a thin, worried line.

“I hope that isn’t what I think it is,” he said.

Steve stopped next to him and untied the bag. Inside were stacks of money and paper bonds. It had to be hundreds. Maybe even closer to a thousand. Steve hadn’t ever held that much money at one time in his life. It made him more uncomfortable than he’d have expected, though he suspected that was due more to the way in which he had come by it.

“Goddamn.” Steve whistled. He tucked his bandana away as he stared at the money. “You folks make a habit of tossing a fortune to strangers?”

“No,” Ben said, shaking his head. He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like damned fools. “This train’s got a history of being an easy target because there ain’t much in the way of law enforcement out here. It was held up a few weeks ago, in fact. The men were shot up, one died…” He frowned at the money. 

“You reckon they saw two men riding for the train and thought we were going to hold ‘em up?” Steve asked.

“Sure seems like.”

At the rate the train was going, they were easily going to beat Steve and Ben back to town, and God only knew what their story would be. Maybe they’d invent a gang, or reimagine Steve threatening them with Ben’s rifle. Steve had visions of being arrested and wrongly imprisoned. No one out here knew him except Ben, who only really knew his name. He didn’t see any way such a thing would work out in his favor.

“We need to get this to town.” Steve tied the bag shut tightly. “Explain what happened before—”

“The sheriff sends men our way.” Ben nodded.

“You’re a friendly bunch. You want to carry this, or should I?”

“It’ll be better if I do.” Ben leaned over to take the bag from Steve. “If they do catch up with us before we can get back and explain ourselves, they’ll be more likely to listen to me. They’d just as soon shoot you, stranger.”

“Friendly,” Steve muttered again. 

“You should see what we do to people we like. Come on.” Ben urged his horse forward into a gallop, trusting Steve to follow.

It was tense. Steve hadn’t been out looking for action, but it’d found him anyway. It exhausted him almost as much as the heat. So much for that quieter life he was after.

Steve’s horse wasn’t much pleased with the situation either; she was trying, but they were both strained and tired from a day of travel. It was taking more effort than it ought to have to keep up with Ben. Though—Ben’s horse didn’t seem to be doing much better. It wasn’t really built for speed and champed unhappily at the bit. 

“Up there,” Ben said suddenly, grim. “Do you see?”

On the hill rising before them, a group of men were riding their way. They outnumbered Steve and Ben at least two to one, though Steve couldn’t tell exactly how many there were at this distance. However, they didn’t have to be close for Steve to know they had their guns drawn. Posses weren’t known for being overly kind.

“What do you think?” he asked, breathless from the ride. “Do we ride for them, or do we get to town another way?”

“To town. That’s that damned Rumlow. I—” Ben jerked back suddenly, slumping over his saddle. His horse kept running, trampling on the money as it fell out of Ben’s hands. It slowed, panting and tugging on the reins, without Ben to push it onward. A split second later, Steve heard the shots.

The posse was riding for them, shooting with reckless abandon.

“Goddamn!” Steve cried. 

He reined his horse in before she could bolt and slid off his saddle. He hit the ground running, ducking the shots he could hear getting closer. He stumbled over the money to Ben’s horse, first firmly taking hold of the reins to calm and still the horse, then pushing Ben back so he could see what kind of shape he was in. Blood was spreading across the front of his shirt in what Steve had to guess was a nasty hit, but he was still breathing shallowly. 

He grunted as he pulled Ben down from his horse and got him up on Steve’s. The posse was still shooting, but they were much closer. Now, Steve could hear angry shouting and mean-spirited taunting. One of the bullets struck the ground by Steve’s leg. Another hit Ben’s horse. It screamed and fell.

Steve threw his leg over his horse, spurring her into a gallop before he’d hit the saddle. They rode hard and fast—as fast as Steve’s horse could manage—off towards the river. They would have to give the posse a wide berth, which made Steve uneasy and mad. Ben needed a doctor now. He just hoped there was some chance they’d slow down once they picked up the money he’d left behind.

When he glanced over his shoulder, he could see that a couple of the men had stopped by Ben’s horse to retrieve the money and shoot Ben’s horse in the head. He still had at least three coming for him, guns out. Steve rode faster. His horse huffed and panted but seemed to understand the urgency.

It felt like a lifetime before the buildings of what had to be Timely began slowly to rise up in front of him. His suspicions had been correct. It was smaller than Pleasant Hill and even rougher around the edges. He could see a handful of buildings lining what had to be main street. Beyond that, there were a few fields that had been half-heartedly fenced in, barns dotted here and there. The train station was a good distance away from main street. 

Steve’s heart pounded in his ears. Maybe if he could get close enough to town, the posse would stop shooting. He leaned forward, protectively covering Ben and making himself smaller at the same time—not that it helped much. His shoulders were broad enough he figured he was still a decent target.

His horse kicked up a massive cloud of dust as they turned and thundered down the main street. There were a few people out: Some were shopping, some were standing outside of their shops, probably in search of a breeze on a stifling summer day. A man shouted at Steve to slow down before you break your fool neck.

“Help!” Steve shouted back, pulling back to slow his horse. She danced and tossed her head, upset and now over-tired. “Help! Ben Parker’s been shot!” He made soothing nonsensical noises to calm his horse even as he climbed out of the saddle, trying hard to keep from jostling Ben more than absolutely necessary. “I need a doctor over here!”

A few people came over to see what the commotion was.

“Who the hell are you?” a dark haired man asked, gray eyes wide when he saw the state of Ben’s shirt. “What happened to Ben?”

“Steve. Some of your men shot us,” Steve replied. “They’re behind me.” He turned to pull Ben off the horse. She stamped at the ground, shifting her weight, and making it harder for Steve to get Ben down. He looked askance at the dark haired man as he struggled. “We need a doctor. Quickly.”

“Shit. Here, let me help,” the dark haired man insisted. He came around to help Steve get Ben off the horse, Ben’s blood on his hands and staining the sleeves of his shirt as he got a firm grip on him.

Clumsily, they managed to coordinate a few steps forward, partly carrying, partly dragging Ben with them. Steve had no clue where they were going, but the dark haired man was directing them purposefully to a small, tidy storefront, when the posse rode in, kicking up even more dust and dirt. The leader—Rumlow, Ben had called him—whooped joyfully and shot at Steve. He shot wide, missed, and hit the dark haired man in the arm instead. The man groaned and fell, pulling Ben and Steve into a heap after him. 

“Damn it!” He grasped at his left shoulder, face pale.

“You’re aiding a wanted criminal, Barnes,” Rumlow said from behind and above them. 

“You fucking shot me, you ass,” the dark haired man replied through gritted teeth.

Steve pushed himself upright and came face to face with Rumlow and his men. They all had their guns trained on Steve. Rumlow, maddeningly, had a cocky smile on his face, leaning back in his saddle with his gun aimed at Steve’s heart. 

“Put your hands up, friend.”

“You shot Ben Parker,” Steve said, ignoring Rumlow’s request. From the corner of his eye, he could see that the dark haired man had crawled back to Ben’s side, but hadn’t dared move any more than that. “We need a doctor!”

“You need a jail cell,” Rumlow countered. “We heard you held up the train. Where’s the rest of your gang, huh? I can’t believe old Ben would get involved, but I guess anyone can get desperate…”

“We didn’t hold up any damned train,” Steve snapped. “It was a misunderstanding. Didn’t you find the money with Ben’s horse?”

“A fine story, I’m sure. As it happens, we did find the money but don’t think I didn’t see you cut and run when you saw us. Is it any wonder we gave chase?”

A slight man in wire-frame glasses, shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, pushed his way through the small crowd that had gathered, very clearly ignoring Rumlow and the guns. He hurried to Ben’s side and carefully rolled him onto his back. He put on the stethoscope that hung limply around his neck and ripped Ben’s shirt in his haste to get Ben’s shirt undone enough to press the flat end to Ben’s chest.

“Doc, you’d best get out of the way. We’re trying to apprehend a criminal.”

“Rumlow, you had better put that gun away before the mayor sees you making an even bigger mess of things,” the doctor said absently, absorbed in his examination. “You know how he feels about you and Pierce.” He frowned, prodded at Ben again, then shook his head. His jaw clenched. “How many times have you been told not to shoot first and ask your questions later, Brock? You and your boys have killed this man.” 

Steve exhaled sharply. Ben had seemed like a good man and now his blood was on Steve’s hands, albeit indirectly. If he’d not stopped to talk to Steve, he wouldn’t have found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was all the worse, he thought, because Rumlow didn’t seem the slightest bit surprised or sorry. He still had that sly smile that Steve, loathe though he was to pick unnecessary fights these days, found himself wanting to knock off Rumlow’s face.

“Here, let’s take a look at this.” The doctor had moved on from Ben to the dark haired man—Barnes—and his arm, looking over the wound with short, efficient movements that, to Steve’s eye, seemed to belie his anger. He was saying something softly to Barnes, testing his range of motion, it looked like. Barnes winced with each movement.

In the face of the doctor’s pronouncement and the gathering crowd watching in stony silence, Rumlow holstered his gun. 

“I didn’t do anything. Neither did Ben,” Steve’s jaw clenched. He had to take a deep breath so he could find the words. “But even if we had. If this is your idea of justice…,” he said, first to Rumlow, then to his men, who had formed a loose circle around Steve. A few of them still had their guns on him. “If this is your idea of justice, well, I think Timely is behind the times. I’ve never seen such lawlessness. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves.”

He stared each man in the face, daring them to say something, to contradict him. No one did.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” Steve turned away. “Do you need help?” he asked the doctor.

“No, I need to get him cleaned up, but he can walk to my office for that.” As though to prove the point, the doctor got to his feet and helped Barnes to his. His arm was red, the sleeve damp with his blood and Ben’s. He had grown even paler but didn’t look like he was about to keel over.

The crowd had started to disperse, clearly uncomfortable lingering around Rumlow’s posse and Ben’s body now that the standoff was over. Only a few women hung about, standing in front of what Steve supposed was the saloon, watching quietly until Rumlow gave up and angrily stomped away, trailed by his men. 

Steve looked at Ben’s body and remembered his invitation to dinner. Someone was going to need to tell his widow what had happened. It seemed only right that Steve do it. He carefully lifted Ben, settling him on his horse again.

“Can someone direct me to the Parker homestead?” 

One of the women from the saloon, a redhead with a knowing gleam in her eye, gave him directions to a house to the north. Steve thanked her politely, then began to walk over, leading his horse at a sedate pace. Maybe, he thought, by the time he got out there he’d know what to say to Mrs. Parker.

art by [Stucky1980](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stucky1980)


	2. Chapter 2

Ben had been right. May Parker was an incredible woman. She was calm as Steve explained the mix up with the train, how he had tried to get a doctor.

“The sheriff’s men have a tendency to play with their guns more than any of us would like,” May said, eyes shiny with tears that had yet to fall. “It’s something you get used to, after a while. Oh, I know how awful that sounds, but that’s always been the way of things. Ever since I was a little girl. Ben always says—said.” She took a breath. “Ben always said if we could get a decent sheriff, we’d see happier people.”

They were sitting at a well-worn table in the small kitchen. It rocked a little when Steve pressed on the corner nearest to him. The house, May had told him, had been built by Ben before they married. She’d been ready to get married the first time he’d asked her to go with him to church, but he had insisted on making a home for her first. She had been reluctant to agree to the arrangement, certain he didn’t know how to build so much as a table. Her fears had been justified: the lopsided legs on their dining room table had been his first foray into building. He’d learned as he worked, though, and from everyone in town willing to teach him. In the end, the house was simple, but sturdy. May had loved it immediately.

Steve finished his coffee and set the cup back down on the uneven table. Sitting here with May, he was even sorrier about Ben. It was evident how much May adored him. 

“I hope you do get a better sheriff, ma’am. The men I saw weren’t fit to have a gun.”

“No,” May agreed. She was quiet, far away in a memory, Steve could tell. After a moment, she blinked as though come back to herself and gave Steve a watery smile. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you don’t care to hear me tell you stories all afternoon.” She got up briskly clearing away the empty plates—her biscuits were just as good as Ben had promised—and nodded at Steve’s empty cup. “Would you like more coffee?”

“Thank you, but I think I ought to be getting back to town. I need to see if I can get a room.”

“Nonsense,” May said. She turned, hands on her hips, and gave Steve a look that reminded him of his mother. “You’re going to stay here. I can make up a place for you. It’s the least I can do to thank you for bringing Ben home and—and for being so kind.”

Steve considered arguing but found he didn’t want to. It had been months since he’d stayed in an honest to God house, not a rented room dusty with the grit of every passer-through or his own tent pitched on the softest bit of ground he could find. And he thought his horse would appreciate the chance to rest, finally. They’d both had a hell of a long day.

“If you’re sure, ma’am, I’d appreciate it.”

“You can call me May, Steven, really,” she said. “But yes, I’m sure. I’ll get Peter to help me scare up the extra bedding. Do you want a bath? Our washtub’ll be a little small for you, but I imagine you won’t mind all that much.”

Steve got up, chair scraping pleasantly along the floor. He tucked it carefully under the table, then carried his cup over to May. 

“You’re a guest,” May said. “I don’t need you cleaning up, sweet as you are. Peter!”

A little boy that Steve guessed was around the age of nine or ten scurried into the room. He looked remarkably like Ben. He peered up at Steve through an unruly mop of hair. He’d been creeping around the doorways since Steve had arrived, obviously curious and scared. May had excused herself earlier the moment she’d had Steve settled with dinner so she could talk with the boy. 

“Hi, Peter. My name’s Steve.” Steve crouched down to offer Peter a hand. He bit back a smile when Peter gave him a firm, solemn handshake.

“Peter Parker, sir. Pleased to meet you.”

Steve stood up, back cracking with the effort. He’d strained himself more than he’d realized. 

“Very good, Peter,” May said approvingly. “Go fetch the extra blanket. Steven is staying the night.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Peter said. He shuffled his feet some, clearly anxious to stay and listen to the rest of May and Steve’s conversation. He’d probably been listening to them from the other room, come to think of it. He flicked another shy glance in Steve’s direction, then went off to get the bedding together.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Steve asked. “I ought to help clean up for feeding me and putting me up for the night.”

“Oh, no.” May shook her head forcefully. “You’ve already done plenty for me and mine, Steve Rogers. You just go on and let Peter show you where you’ll be sleeping. I’ll start boiling water for your bath.”

Bless this woman, Steve thought. He was secretly relieved May didn’t have any chores for him. Having taken a moment to sit a spell, his body was aware of how strenuous the day had been and how welcome hot water and a pillow would be.

He left the kitchen, ducking under a touch-too-low doorframe, to join Peter. Besides the kitchen, there were two other rooms: A bedroom with two beds on either side of a fireplace, and a small sitting room with storage.

“Aunt May said you get my bed,” Peter said. He was digging through a chest pushed against one wall, producing a red and white quilt. He spread it out as evenly as he could across a low bed. It was going to be a tight fit, but Steve had been sleeping on the ground more nights than not. At least he was getting a pillow this time.

“Thank you, son.”

“You’re welcome. Uncle Ben said we each have a responsibility to be good to each other.”

“That’s true.” Steve hesitated. It wasn’t his place to talk to Peter about Ben, but he thought it was only appropriate to add, “He was a good, smart man, your Uncle Ben.”

Peter nodded furiously in agreement.

“Peter!” May called from the kitchen. “If you’re done in there, please come help me draw Steven a bath.”

“Yes’m!” Peter finished smoothing the quilt over his bed. “Aunt May said you can see if any of Uncle Ben’s shirts fit. She reckons you don’t have anything else clean to change into.” He walked over to the chest of drawers tucked away by the other, larger bed. “He keeps them in here,” he said, tapping on the middle drawer.

It felt morbid going through a dead man’s clothes. Steve did anyway. May’s intuition was right. He didn’t have anything clean and he hated to put his dirty clothes on again after going to the trouble of cleaning up.

He was considering his options, wondering whether he might fit into any of Ben’s shirts without ripping the seams, when he heard a knock at the door. He went through to the sitting room, setting his shirts down on the table, and answered it to find the town doctor waiting, one hand tucked into the pocket of his waistcoat.

“Doc,” Steve said. “I can get May for you.”

“We weren’t formally introduced,” the doctor said. He held out a hand for a brief, firm handshake. “I’m Bruce Banner, the doctor, as you surmised. If May’s busy, that’s fine. I came by to see if she needed any help with Ben.”

“Steve Rogers,” Steve said. He stood aside so Banner could enter. “I helped her put him up for the night, but we’ll need to get him to the church in the morning.”

“I’ll tell Wilson—he’s our preacher—you’ll need his wagon.”

“Much obliged. You’ve had a busy day, doc.” Steve sat down on the edge of the nearest chair, hands clasped loosely between his knees. “I hope it isn’t always like that around here.”

“Oh, no. No, usually it’s much worse,” Banner said wryly. “Though, I’m usually more useful, too. I was too late to help Ben and Bucky…” He took off his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily. “I dug the bullet out of his arm, but it wasn’t pretty. Only time will tell how bad the damage truly is, but I fear he may lose its function. If it gets worse, he could lose the arm entirely.”

“Jesus.”

“Doctor Banner, is that your voice I hear?” May emerged from the kitchen, drying her hands on the apron tied around her waist. 

“I came by to check on you,” Banner said. “I didn’t know you were entertaining.”

“There’s plenty left if you want something to eat. I won’t take no for an answer; you’re far too thin. Steven, your bath is just about ready. Were you able to find anything you can wear?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He presented her the three or four shirts he thought he could squeeze into and she nodded her approval, gaze lingering a moment on the blue shirt Steve had best liked the odds of fitting. “I can pay you for all of this. It doesn’t feel right letting you do so much for me.”

“Give it up, Steve,” Banner said kindly, ducking his head. “Mrs. Parker has a stronger will than anyone else in town.” As though to prove the point, he was obediently following her back into the kitchen, even as he protested taking her food.

Steve laughed and shook his head. He kept the blue shirt out but folded the others and tucked them into his bag. Maybe he could leave a little money under his pillow in the morning. May Parker didn’t have a monopoly on being stubborn.

When Banner returned, he had two of May’s biscuits in hand. He drew a handkerchief from his pocket and neatly tied them up. 

“Doc, before you go,” Steve said, catching Banner before he could make the front door. “You said Barnes is in a bad way with his arm?”

“Well, I’m not sure,” Banner admitted. He shifted his weight uneasily. “If he rests like I told him to, he should heal fine. Though that’s assuming there aren’t any complications. I can only do so much to hold off infection.” He frowned. “It’s a sorry situation all the way around, and one that could’ve been avoided if the sheriff would exert more control over his men. Rumlow’s the worst deputy I’ve ever seen.”

“I was thinking I might go see him. Barnes, I mean. It was good of him to help Ben and me.”

“Bucky’s a good man.” Banner turned thoughtful. “I can’t say I’m shocked he jumped in.” He tucked his little bundle of biscuits into his coat pocket. “You ought to go see him. He could use some company.”

Steve didn’t press, keenly aware he was keeping Banner. He was also eager to get to the bathtub. 

“Thanks, doc.”

“I hope I’ll see you around, Steve.”

“Mister Rogers?” Peter had crept up on Steve again. He was toying with the hem of his shirt, which was wet down the front, and pretending he hadn’t been spying on Steve again. “Aunt May wanted me to tell you that the bath’s all ready.”

The bathtub was small, as May had said, but Steve didn’t care. He waited until May and Peter had gone (“Don’t you worry, Steven, we have animals to see to. You’ll have your privacy.”) and then stripped down. His knees were drawn up to his chest and he couldn’t relax, exactly, for the way he fit into the cramped space, but Steve relished it anyway. It felt indescribably good to sit in the hot water, scrubbing dirt and dust and blood from his skin. 

He slipped down as far as he could and tipped his head back. The water was already going cold, but, God, it felt good to get the dust out of his hair. Once he cleaned up and got a good night’s sleep, he was going to ride out to see Bucky Barnes. Steve owed him a thank you at the very least, though he hoped he could show his appreciation in a more concrete way. Maybe he could buy Barnes a drink.

He soaked a little while longer, thoughts indistinct as exhaustion settled on him like a heavy blanket, until the water truly was cold, then pulled himself out of the tub. He dried perfunctorily and pulled on his jeans and one of Ben’s shirts. His assessment had been right: it was tight in the shoulders but fit well enough otherwise. 

May’s gaze lingered on Steve’s shirt when he later emerged, having emptied the tub and cleaned it for her.

“I’m glad you were able to find something that fits,” she said. “It suits you.” 

“Are you sure it’s okay if I stay?” Steve asked. “I don’t mind riding back into town and finding a room or staying in your barn…” He laughed, holding his hands up in surrender when May looked fit to scold him. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I just didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“You’re not a stranger now, Steven,” she said kindly. “Now you leave that washtub alone. I’ll set things to rights. It’s getting dark and you ought to get some rest. I heard you talking with Doctor Banner. I want you to take lunch with you when you go to see James.” At Steve’s puzzled look, she clarified, “Bucky Barnes.”

“Ah. Yes, ma’am.”

She’d been busy while he was bathing; Peter’s bed had been turned down and Steve’s new clothes neatly folded and set on the chest near the bed. She had even put up a makeshift partition to give Steve the illusion of privacy, though he suspected she was unlikely to sleep much if at all. 

“May, you’re an angel!” he called.

“Thank you. Go to sleep, young man!”

Steve’s head had hardly touched the pillow when he fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Though Steve had a habit of waking early, he was up later in the morning than was usual. May, evidently, had been awake some time. By the time he’d risen and splashed his face with water, May had already made hoecakes, thick sausages, eggs, and coffee. She had a big plate sitting out for Steve and the remainder bundled up and waiting on that uneven table of hers. Peter was already almost finished with his breakfast.

“If I could, I’d send molasses on with you, but I think this is enough of a handful,” she said, surveying the spread with a critical eye.

“May, I could eat a horse. I won’t miss the molasses.” Steve’s stomach rumbled.

“For James,” she said with a smile. “You can have all the molasses you’d like.” To prove her point, she produced molasses from her shelves. “More coffee?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Please.” He still needed to pack his bags. May had already explained to him that the preacher was likely to be over well before lunch because he liked to hold a Bible study on Wednesday afternoons and needed time to prepare. “I was thinking I’d go with the preacher to the church. I figure he’ll need help.”

“And, of course, I’ll go with you,” she agreed. She smoothed her skirt. “Arrangements will need to be made.”

Steve quietly resolved to speak with the preacher about helping pay for Ben’s burial. He didn’t have much, but he could help May with this, at least.

“You finish your breakfast, Steven. Peter and I will see to your horse.”

Steve did finish, albeit it with some guilt that May was doing so much for him and took a moment to clear up after himself before heading back into the bedroom. It didn’t take too long to pack his bag. Even with the new shirts from May, he didn’t have much on him. He picked up his hat and carried the lot outside to the Parkers’ small barn.

Peter was brushing his horse and talking to her in a low, conspiratorial voice.

“That child has always loved animals,” May mused from the doorway. “He would’ve kept pet spiders if I’d let him.”

“I’m all ready to go,” Steve said. “Any word on the preacher?”

“Oh, yes. His wagon’s coming up the way. He’ll be here soon enough. Did you get enough breakfast?”

Steve assured her that he had and gave Peter’s hair a ruffle as he thanked him for looking after his horse. May took Peter back to the house, leaving Steve to resaddle his horse and get his bag settled. When he was finished, he led his girl out of the barn and found the preacher and his wagon had arrived.

“Brother Wilson, this is Steven,” May said as Steve walked up. “He’s offered to help you…move Ben.” 

Wilson took May’s hand and squeezed it comfortingly. 

“I know that Ben’s loss makes everything feel a little darker right now, Miss May, but you remember that as trying as these times are, the only shadow you’re in is the shadow of our Lord’s cross. I’ve no doubt he’s walking streets of gold today and enjoying a well-earned reward.”

May wiped at a tear.

“Steven, do you mind giving me a hand?” Wilson continued, turning to Steve. “If Miss May doesn’t mind looking after the horses.”

May didn’t and had Peter help her with the wagon and Steve’s horse. Steve showed Wilson to the body.

“You can call me Steve,” he said. 

“Only if you call me Sam, brother,” the preacher replied. “Miss May and some of our congregation still like titles, but I prefer to remind everyone that we’re all equal in the kingdom of God.”

“Were you in town yesterday?”

“No,” Sam admitted. “I was visiting and ministering to some of the families that live a little too far out to get to church every week. Bruce came by last night to tell me what happened, though. It’s a shame but not the first time the deputy’s drawn his gun too quickly. Not that we aren’t happy to welcome new blood, but I might think about moving on sooner rather than later.”

Steve raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve at least got to go see Barnes. I got him shot.”

“Well. You might do, but I reckon he might be in a sour mood because he was plugged. I’ve known Bucky long enough to know that he’s a good man, but not always the most patient.”

“You’re the third person to tell me about him,” Steve said. “I think I’ve got to go now, at least to see for myself what the man’s really like.”

“Do what you feel led to do, brother,” Sam said. “But help me get Ben squared away first, if you don’t mind.”

They got Ben into the back of Sam’s wagon, then May, and then Peter, who carried the leftover breakfast in his lap. Steve rode alongside the wagon, content to listen to May and Sam chat amicably as they made their way first into town, then down to a whitewashed church building with a modest steeple. Steve studied the neat boneyard set out beside the building with its roughly even lines of graves dotted here and there with stone and wood markers.

Steve hitched his horse out front in the shade of the building, then helped Sam get Ben inside into the backroom. 

“Wait,” Steve said, catching Sam by the sleeve before he could go back out to May and Peter. “I don’t know May’s circumstances, or how you usually do things ‘round these parts, but I wanted to, uh… anonymously give some money to getting Ben buried right.”

“Miss May would tell you to keep your money,” Sam said, “so it’s a good thing you asked without her around. If you want to donate, I can tell her it came from the church.”

“Thank you, Sam.” Steve dug out a few dollars which he pressed gratefully into Sam’s hand. 

“Thank you, Steve,” Sam answered. “You’ve been awful kind since you got here, even though you had the worst introduction to our town.”

They went back out to join May, who hugged Steve tightly, and Peter, who handed over the leftover food. Barnes didn’t live too far away from the church; Steve had been told on the ride over that he only had to backtrack as far as the general store and then head east until he saw a good-sized farm. It was late enough in the day now, too, that Steve thought Barnes might even be up for visitors, no matter how prickly Sam had made him sound.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take this back with you?” Steve asked, unhitching his horse. May had packed a lot more food than he’d expected. “I’m sure Barnes has plenty.”

“I wouldn’t count on finding much in the way of good food where you’re going,” May said. She pursed her lips. “That is to say. Well. James is a perpetual bachelor and lives like one. His house is neat enough, I’ll grant you, but…it’s empty, you know? I do so wish that boy would find a partner. He shouldn’t be left to rattle around his place alone.”

Steve had to wonder what, exactly, he was getting into.

“I’m talking too much again,” May murmured. She gave Steve a smile and took a step back from his horse, one arm wrapped around Peter’s shoulders. She shielded her eyes from the sun and looked up at Steve after he was back in the saddle. “You tell James that he can give my dishes back to me after church. Tell him not to worry about getting it to me any sooner.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“It’s good you’re going out to see him,” she said. “You’re a good man.”

“I try to do my part,” Steve said, shifting uncomfortably. He put his hat on and tipped it first in Sam’s direction, then May and Peter’s. “I thank you for your hospitality.”

“Before you leave town for good, please come by to see Peter and me again.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“If you stay that long, I hope to see you in church this Sunday,” Sam said.

“Give James my best,” May added.

Steve said a final round of goodbyes, then pointed his horse back towards town. There were only a few people were out, but now that he had a better understanding of the size of town, Steve figured this counted as a busy day. He could see smoke already billowing from the blacksmith’s and a wagon already parked in front of the general store. Steve rode past them with a nod of acknowledgement, curving left to find Barnes’s farm rising up in front of him.

It was bigger than Steve had expected, though he supposed it made sense now why Banner had hinted at Barnes facing problems with his arm out of commission. As Steve rode up to the door, he rode past an enclosed field with cows to one side, a sizeable crop to the other side. Closer to the house, there was another, smaller vegetable garden, chickens winding contentedly through the leaves. The house was big, too. Bigger than Steve’d had in mind for a single man.

Steve hitched his horse to the railing at the porch and took the food to the front door. He’d assumed that he’d given Barnes plenty of time to get up, but now Steve was having his doubts. He tucked the bundle under one arm and knocked once—then a second and third time.

He was about to knock a fourth time when the door suddenly opened. 

Barnes had probably just woken up: His hair was sticking up at odd angles, there was a crease on his cheek from the bedding, and he winced with every move that pulled at his arm. He squinted at Steve. He was wearing a pair of jeans, but he’d forgone a shirt in favor of a binding that wound around his arm and neck, keeping his arm immobile and in place.

“Do I know you?”

“I’m the reason you got shot,” Steve said. He held up the food like an offering. “I brought a late breakfast, courtesy of May Parker. You don’t happen to have molasses, do you?”

“Oh, in that case.” Barnes stepped back, letting Steve in. “I was just wondering how I was going to manage cooking. I don’t have shit to eat that doesn’t involve the stove. I figure fire might be a bad idea right now.” He led Steve to an honest-to-God dining table, matching chairs and all. He practically fell into a seat himself, then gestured with his good arm for Steve to make himself comfortable. “No molasses, I’m afraid, but I might have honey. Do you have a name?”

“Steve Rogers.” Steve hesitated, tucked his hands in his pockets to keep from fussing with the food. “I’m sorry for how things happened yesterday. I didn’t expect to get shot at on my way into town, you know. Folks in Pleasant Hill told me this is a nice place.”

Barnes snorted. 

“Yeah, I’m starting to feel like that was a set up.”

“Sit. You can call me Bucky.” With his good arm, Bucky reached for the bundle and picked clumsily at the knot. Steve considered offering to help but didn’t want to offend. “I wouldn’t take things with Rumlow too personally. You’re not from around here, so there was no reason to run you off until you’ve spent your money in town. He’s just an asshole. I’m not the first person he’s ‘accidentally’ shot.” Bucky got the food unwrapped and picked up a sausage. He took a big bite. “He’s not the kind of guy you call on if you’ve got a problem,” he said around his mouthful.

“If it’s so bad, why does he still have any kind of authority around here?”

Bucky thought about that a moment, chewing thoughtfully. “Well, I guess because we don’t have too many options, for one. But the main thing is that as long as Alexander fucking Pierce is sheriff, we’re going to be stuck with his goons policing the town.”

“You could get a new sheriff.”

Bucky laughed so hard that he almost choked on his sausage. 

Steve waited until he quieted down. “Stupid question?”

“Stick around, Rogers. You’ll see just how stupid that question is.” Bucky put his cup down, wiped his hand on his pants. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d like to run Rumlow out of town, and his men, and Pierce. Hell, the mayor can go too. They’ve been bleeding us dry for years.”

“How do you mean?”

“It’s a long story.” Bucky shook his head. “But the long and short of it is that the mayor likes to have a hand in everyone’s business.” He finished his sausage and picked up another. “I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do, actually. With this.” He glanced at his bandaged arm. “Bruce said he thought it’d be okay, but—I’m supposed to ‘rest’ it.”

“May said you’re out here alone.”

“Have been for a good long while,” Bucky shrugged. “Are you sticking around?”

It was Steve’s turn to shrug.

“Well.” Bucky wiped his hand on his shirt and leaned back in his chair. “If I were you, I probably wouldn’t stay in this town unless I had to, but… if you feel so inclined, I might have room for you. And I can promise it’ll be better than any room you could rent in town.”

“I sleep on the ground most nights, I’m sure even an awful room would be fine by me,” Steve said, surprised. “But tell me. Is everyone in this town so trusting? May Parker put me up for the night after knowing me for all of an afternoon and now you’re offering me a bed? What if I were to stay a month?”

“Then you stay a month,” Bucky said gamely. He seemed to forget himself, shifting the wrong shoulder, then winced. “I’ve got the space. Why not?”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Steve pointed out.

“I’m a fair judge of character. I saw how torn up you were about Ben. Not many people would’ve gone to see May, or come to see me, for that matter.”

“Even a bad person can do good sometimes.”

“Are you trying to convince me that you really are the outlaw Rumlow was trying to say you were?” Bucky asked, amused. “In that case: Good. I could do with some excitement—as long as it doesn’t involve getting shot at again. When I was a kid, I used to dream about being a gunslinger. Now that I know what it’s like to be on the wrong end of a gun, I’d be just as happy never to do that again.”

Steve laughed despite his shock.

“Is that a yes, then?” 

“It’s not a no, “Steve admitted. “I appreciate the kindness, but I’ll need to think on it. Anyway, doc said you need your rest. You should get back to bed.”

Bucky shrugged. “Suit yourself. If you have any questions or need anything, now you know where to find me.” He pushed away from the table and swayed. “You could be onto something about going back to bed. God, but it’s going to drive me up the wall having to ‘rest.’” he said the word like it was dirty. “I’ve never been good at sitting still.”

“That makes two of us.”

Bucky showed Steve to the door. “Thanks for the food.”

“You ought to thank May for that.”

“When I see her,” Bucky said, waving Steve off. He leaned against the door, clearly trying to hide how tired he was. “Try to stay out of Rumlow’s way? I’m hoping I’ll see you again in one piece.”

“I’ll try.”

Steve felt Bucky’s eyes on him as he made his way back to town.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve went for a drink. After the last two days he’d had, he felt entitled to a few drinks. Maybe even a bottle. The saloon certainly wasn’t as bleak as it looked on the outside. Inside, the bar was polished and clean, and there were more people sitting around playing cards and drinking than Steve expected so early in the afternoon. It might’ve helped that a beautiful woman was tending bar.

“I enjoyed your speech yesterday,” she said. She pushed a glass Steve’s way. It looked like it was filled with water, but it smelled strong as hell. “On the house. It isn’t often someone reminds Rumlow that he isn’t the hand of God.”

“It isn’t often I get shot at for trying to do the right thing,” Steve said. He leaned against the bar and accepted the glass, saluting the woman. “Thanks.”

“I saw you with Sam this morning.”

Steve took a drink. It burned and stung; he coughed, cheeks reddening, and blinked.

“And then I saw you going out to Bucky’s.”

“You see everything, huh?” Steve said roughly, catching his breath. He felt his cheeks heat further at his tone. He knew better than to snap at a woman, but he also felt uncomfortable knowing anyone was watching him that closely. He cut his gaze to the bar and swirled his drink.

“A girl in my position learns to attend to her surroundings.” 

Fair enough, Steve thought. Her tone didn’t invite further questions, so he didn’t ask her to elaborate. He braced himself, took another drink, and looked up again.

“Besides, town’s small. We only have so many bodies. A big man draws the eye…” She quirked an eyebrow.

“Steve,” he said. “I’m Steve Rogers.”

“Natasha. How’s Bucky doing?”

“He ate, if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t know him well enough to know if he’s okay.” Steve thought about that, then amended, “Well… he did seem… Angry. At Rumlow.” Steve thought about Bucky complaining about having to give his arm time to heal. “And restless. I reckon I understand what that’s like, needing to be up and moving.” 

Natasha refilled his glass. He tossed it back. It went down far better when he didn’t have to taste it.

“I’ve been on the road a few months now,” he continued. He dug in his pockets for money while Natasha poured another drink. Steve slid onto the closest barstool and picked up his glass again, sipping at it slowly. “Guess I’m still trying to find my place in the world. But I might stay here a spell. Bucky invited me to his spare room.”

“You seem like a good man,” Natasha commented. She watched him closely. 

“I don’t know what I can do here,” Steve admitted. He hadn’t asked for help from anyone in a long time. He wasn’t exactly asking Natasha now, but Steve still hoped she’d offer her opinion anyway. His instincts told him to get back on the road, but he thought it was wrong to leave when things still felt so unfinished. Natasha raised an eyebrow and he added, “I think I might have made things harder for Bucky.”

“If he only has one good arm right now, I’d say so.”

That settled that, then. Steve wasn’t sure, truthfully, that he would be much good to Bucky. He hadn’t worked a farm before, though he had a little experience with animals and with the community garden he’d helped his mother tend as a boy. The key, he supposed, was to pretend confidence. He could figure out the rest later. Likely, Bucky wouldn’t hold back in telling him if he was doing something wrong. 

“Like I said,” Natasha said. She nodded, satisfied with whatever she saw in Steve, and poured another drink. “You seem like a good man. Drink.”

It was dusk by the time Steve finished. He was pleasantly drunk—it was a lot like whittling away all the sharp edges of everything that could possibly ever worry him. It was warm out, the setting sun taking some of the heat of the day with it, and Steve whistled as he rode back out to Bucky’s farm. He took a slow, meandering pace, content to take in the sights of the town winding down for the day.

Bucky was just outside his barn, fumbling with a bucket and muttering profanities to himself. He’d left his arm bound, which was causing some difficulty as he tried to fill the bucket with feed.

“Need a hand?” Steve leaned forward in the saddle, the pommel pressing into his stomach. “Seeing as you only have the one.”

“Goddamn piece of shit. The bucket, not you. You made up your mind, then?”

Steve led his horse into the barn and to get her settled. Bucky, apparently giving the bucket up as a bad job, followed, directing Steve to an empty stall and showing him where he could stow his tack and gear.

“You smell like you met Nat,” Bucky commented. He patted Steve’s horse gently on her neck while Steve got her saddle and his bags off.

“That moonshine she pushes is poison.”

“Nah, just Russian.”

Steve laughed and threw his bags over one shoulder. “What were you feeding? I’ll help.”

“If you can fill that damn bucket,” Bucky kicked at the aforementioned bucket scornfully, “I can feed the chickens. It’s harder to do it in the dark with one arm. My own fault for falling asleep and losing track of time, I guess… But this means you’re staying the night, huh?”

Following Bucky’s directions, Steve filled the bucket and followed him out to the coop, gamely dodging chickens as they protested their late dinner and Steve getting in their way. Before Bucky could take over, Steve was scattering feed and filling pans. He could hear Bucky muttering again behind him and was drunk enough to smile instead of stepping out of Bucky’s way or telling him to knock it off.

“Not used to getting help?”

“I—well, not recently, no. It’s been, God. Years since I had anyone out here.”

That piqued Steve’s curiosity. “Yeah? It’s a big place for one man on his own.”

“I like to work,” Bucky said defensively. “Always have.”

Steve raised a hand placatingly. “I didn’t mean to say you didn’t, Bucky. It’s a big piece of land for one man to work on his own is all.”

“I manage. Did you eat anything with all that booze? Breakfast’s still on the table.”

“Breakfast’s good. Let me take this back.”

Steve finished feeding the chickens and walked the bucket back to the barn. He poked around until he found a pitchfork and the hay clearly set apart for Bucky’s horse, which was in the stall closest to the door. He refreshed both stalls, picked his things up again, and rejoined Bucky, who stood by the corner of the house watching Steve pick his way through the yard. It was getting dark quickly; Bucky’s short hair looked inky against his pale skin.

“You said something about food,” Steve prompted.

Bucky led him through the house again, back to the dining room. All of May’s dishes were still sitting out. “I know Nat’s stuff. You feel like you’re invincible right now, but you’re going to have the worst headache tomorrow. Eat the rest of those biscuits and see if you can’t soak up some of the vodka.”

“Is that what it was?”

Inside, in the light of the lamps Bucky had lit, Steve could see just how tired Bucky was, how Bucky trembled slightly in his chair, sweating with every movement. It was little wonder he’d had difficulty with the chicken feed. In fact, it was surprising Bucky was still out of bed and pushing himself to get Steve a glass of water to go with the leftover sausage. 

“You should sit, Bucky.”

“I told you I hate resting,” Bucky scowled, but he did sit down across from Steve, blowing out a breath as he gently lowered himself into the seat. He chewed at his bottom lip while Steve ate and very pointedly tried not to stare at Steve. It was almost as obvious as if he had been staring. “Listen,” Bucky said suddenly after a long beat, “I can’t afford to take a break.”

Steve kept picking at the remains of breakfast, not keen to rush Bucky, who was clearly working something out for himself. He had the sort of hopeless look Steve had only ever seen on soldiers who knew they were going to die, men who were about to lose everything in a hand of cards, and husbands who had the misfortune of being caught in a lie. It was hard for Bucky to admit these things to Steve. Steve tried to relieve the tension by focusing on his plate.

“Even if I had the extra money right now to take on new people, there’s no one to hire…”

“Natasha said there aren’t that many people around here,” Steve agreed.

“Yeah. Yeah, right. And If I let things go around here, I’ll have to get a loan to cover my ass for next season, assuming I’m back on my feet by then. Of course, Fisk’ll probably have someone seize my property when I can’t pay the loan back. No one can ever pay Fisk’s loans back. Not at all high stakes,” Bucky said wryly. He had given up pretending he wasn’t staring at Steve. 

“Fisk?”

“The mayor.”

“Ah. Well, then, the way I see it, you really only have one option, Bucky.” At Bucky’s raised eyebrow, Steve said, “I’d be happy to lend a hand as long as you need it. I was already thinking of staying a few weeks. I figure I ought to be here for you seeing as how I’m the reason you took that bullet.”

Bucky tapped at the tabletop, frowning at Steve. “It’s a lot of work, Steve.”

“I’m sure I can handle it.”

“Have you ever worked a farm before?”

Steve went back to his meal, shrugging a shoulder.

“It’s going to be a lot of work,” Bucky said again.

“And I promise you I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty. It’s fine, Bucky. We’ll work this out in the morning. You aren’t going to lose your farm if I have anything to say about it.” 

Bucky leaned back in his chair, blew out a breath. “Alright. Alright, Steve. I reckon I’ll never be able to repay you, though, even if I do put you up and feed you.”

“You underestimate how much it’ll take to feed me,” Steve joked. Bucky cracked a smile, which he counted as a win. “That’s better.”

“You’re an odd one.”

“No, this whole town is odd,” Steve shot back. “I still think it’s nuts that any of you are willing to put me up without knowing me first. I could be a killer and you’re offering me your spare room.”

“If you kill me, paying Fisk back’ll be the least of my problems,” Bucky pointed out.

That startled another laugh from Steve.

“I’m not going to kill you, but I might fall asleep on your table. I’m starting to feel those drinks. Natasha’s the one you should really be worried about.” Bucky smiled a little wider as Steve gathered up the plates and cups and took them to the kitchen. He left them on a cupboard to deal with in the morning, then rejoined Bucky. He picked up his bags and looked to Bucky expectantly. 

“Okay. Let me show you where you’ll be staying, then.” Bucky pushed away from the table slowly, leaning heavily on it as he got to his feet. His face drained of the slight color it had from the exertion and he had to take a moment to catch his breath before he led Steve upstairs. There were two bedrooms, one with the door open and the bed still unmade that was clearly Bucky’s room. He opened the door across the narrow hall to reveal the other room. “It isn’t much,” he said apologetically.

“I’ve never had a room this big to myself,” Steve admitted. Even back in the city, he’d always shared with his mother. He looked over his shoulder; Bucky leaned against the door, watching him curiously. Steve met his eyes briefly, then turned his attention back to his room. Thanks to May, he had enough now to fill a few of the drawers in the chest. The bed was bigger than Peter’s, so he was sure he’d get a better night’s sleep here, too.

“Yeah? Well... Make yourself at home and I’ll show you where everything is tomorrow morning.”

“No.” Steve shook his head, shrugging out of his jacket and leaving it on the bed. “I appreciate the kindness, but doc said you need your rest. I’m sure I can figure out where things are myself, if you tell me what you need done.”

“You’re a stubborn son of a bitch, aren’t you?” Bucky said wonderingly. 

Steve hung his hat on the doorknob. “I’ve been told I am a few times in my life. I can’t say it’s ever bothered me. I like to think I’m a man of convictions.”

Bucky snorted.

“Stubborn works too,” Steve acknowledged. “But you’re just about sweating bullets and you look fit to keel over. Get to bed, Bucky. You asked me to stay to do a job, so: Let me do my job.”

“I hate being still,” Bucky said again, but he nodded in Steve’s direction. “You need anything, just holler. You can see how close my room is. And, hey. If you were thinking of killing me in my sleep, I’d appreciate if you make it quick, but I can tell you now the most valuable thing I have is the land. I’d personally go for Rumlow.”

“Sounds like you’re looking for vengeance.”

“Maybe. Good night, Steve.”

Steve could understand the desire for retribution well enough. Not so long ago, he might’ve been as angry as Bucky and spoiling for a fight. He was tired now, though, in every sense of the word. His eyes were heavy as he started unbuttoning his shirt.

“Good night, Bucky.”

art by [Stucky1980](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stucky1980)


	5. Chapter 5

By the end of the week, they’d fallen into a routine.

Steve rose early each morning and fed Bucky’s cows, chickens and goat, then the horses. Afterwards, he washed his hands and face with water from the pump outside, then went inside to get breakfast started. He wasn’t much of a cook, but he could manage eggs and bacon without burning them. By the time he had coffee brewed, Bucky was awake. Even though Steve was of the mind Bucky was better off in bed, Bucky wasn’t one to listen well. He claimed he didn’t sleep well, even with the laudanum Banner had given him.

“I’ve had laudanum before. It knocks you on your ass,” Steve said suspiciously.

“If you take the full dose, sure,” Bucky agreed, unrepentant. He was still pale and weaker than he liked to let on. Steve had realized that on his first morning, when he woke up late with a pounding headache and found Bucky struggling to lift a pan to get breakfast done on his own. Still, he insisted on at least sitting downstairs during the day and taking his meals with Steve in the dining room. “I told you I hate being in bed.”

Steve didn’t argue the point. There was no winning with Bucky. He was too angry to accept anything less than having his way. It wasn’t Steve’s place to push.

“You’re almost out of flour and coffee, and I need nails. The fence on the back side of the pasture needs repairing. Is there anything you want if I go to the store today?”

Bucky shook his head. “I’ve got a little money upstairs, though. I’ll –”

“I’ve got it,” Steve interrupted. “Consider it a thank you for letting me have the first cup of coffee every morning.”

“Hey, you make it, you can have as much as you want, cowboy.”

“Damn right.” Steve grinned at Bucky and cleared the dining room. He had calluses from the unfamiliar work, but Steve was already getting used to the farm and he liked it well enough so far. It was better than the camping and it was so nice to have a house to retreat into when it was too hot outside to breathe. Steve rolled up his sleeves and was washing up when Bucky called him from the front room.

“Looks like we’ve got some visitors. I’d get out here, Rogers.”

Steve stacked the clean plates and set them aside, then dried off. He walked through the house, to find Bucky on the porch. There was, indeed, a carriage coming up the lane, flanked by two horses on either side. All the men were armed, which clearly had Bucky on edge. Steve wasn’t too thrilled either. He considered going upstairs to get his pistol, but settled for keeping his posture loose and open, non-threatening.

“Any idea who it is?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said tersely, not looking away from the carriage. “That’s Fisk.”

“Does the mayor make a habit of making house calls?”

“It can’t be about the loan,” Bucky said. “Not yet. I still have time.”

The carriage came to a stop directly in front of the house and one of the largest men Steve had ever seen emerged. He was taller than Steve, and broader in the shoulders and gut. He wore white, which was spotless despite the dust and dirt that coated everything and everyone else, and rings on each of his thick fingers. A hat perched delicately on his bald head. Steve had no eye for clothes, but he knew this outfit was expensive. He wasn’t impressed.

“James, my boy! I came as soon as I heard about your unfortunate incident.”

“Yeah, ‘as soon as he heard,’ sure. That’s why it took him three days to get out here,” Bucky muttered to Steve.

“Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “This is Steve Rogers. He’s staying with me and helping out around the place. Steve, this is Mayor Wilson Fisk. I’m not sure why he’s here.”

Fisk laughed, belly heaving. “That’s why I like you, James. You’ve always been straightforward, for better or worse.” He turned to Steve, hands coming to rest on his gaudy, big belt buckle. “I’ve heard a lot about you from my men, Mr. Rogers.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Steve said flatly. He knew he ought to be more polite, but there was something about Fisk that he found off-putting. Bucky was visibly uncomfortable too, holding himself straighter even though the effort must have been exhausting him. His jaw was clenched.

“No?” Fisk looked Steve over lazily. “Regardless, I have, and I want to start off by offering my most sincere apologies for that business with Ben Parker and the train. I believe in law and order, and I have the utmost respect for our keepers of the peace. It is for that reason I appointed a good, dear friend sheriff some years ago. However, I like to think I’m big enough to admit when I’ve made a mistake. I have come to believe that it was a mistake allowing Alexander to continue in his position.”

Steve bit his tongue. With men like Fisk, it was better to let them get to the point in their own time. He could see Fisk wasn’t the sort of man to be told what to do.

“I considered promoting Brock. It was only natural, of course. He has served loyally as deputy for some time and without incident—until your accident, James.”

“I’m not sure most of the town would agree with you, sir,” Bucky said.

“Perhaps not,” Fisk allowed. “Which is why I’m here now. You’ve made quite the impression on my people, Mr. Rogers, despite your relative newness. Why is that, I wonder?”

“Might have something to do with not shooting innocent people,” Steve replied.

“Your little speech the other day struck a nerve with some people, I believe,” Fisk continued as though Steve hadn’t spoken. “It certainly got me thinking that you might be right. Our little slice of heaven does deserve better. In fact, it deserves the best, and I think that’s you.”

Steve frowned. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I think people would be mighty pleased to see you take over as sheriff,” Fisk said with a smile that was probably meant to be benevolent. “I know I would.”

“What makes you think I’d be a good sheriff?”

“What makes you think you wouldn’t?” Fisk countered. “We’re a small town. You wouldn’t have much to do, but I think you’ll find public service rewarding. And, of course, you’ll have the power to appoint your own deputy, though I hope you will consider keeping Brock on. He really has done a tremendous job.”

Steve glanced at Bucky, who looked as gobsmacked as Steve.

“Give it a try, Mr. Rogers,” Fisk said. He waved a hand and one of his men stepped forward with a small wooden box. Fisk took it from him and walked it over to Steve himself. “I don’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” He pressed the box into Steve’s hands.

Steve opened it to find the sheriff’s badge, a key, and a neat pile of bills. “What is this?”

“Your first paycheck. If you decide you don’t want the job, then consider it restitution for your troubles.” Fisk turned back to his carriage. The carriage groaned under his weight as he stepped into and settled into his seat. “I look forward to working with you, Sheriff Rogers, and hope to see you settled in by the end of the week.” He tapped the ceiling, and his driver turned the carriage back to town.

“Well, hell.”

Steve and Bucky went back into the house. In the front room, Bucky collapsed into the nearest chair with a sigh, gaze fixed on the box Steve was still holding.

“Are you going to do it?” Bucky asked after a moment.

“I don’t think he really gave me a choice,” Steve said. He handed the box over to Bucky and found himself pacing.

“No, it didn’t seem like it.” Bucky took the cash out, counted it, and whistled. “He must want you bad. This is—Steve, this is a lot. He wants to buy you.”

Steve nodded. “That’s what I thought. You’d know him better than me, but does he strike you as the guy to give up control of, well.  _ Anything _ ?”

Bucky shook his head. “But he  _ is _ obsessed with appearances.”

It all clicked into place.

“He wants to look good and appease people by putting in a new sheriff,” Steve said. The more he thought about it, the more he resented Fisk for putting him in this position. “And this is his way of getting me under his thumb early. What happens if I say no? I bet I’d have an ‘unfortunate accident’ before I could leave town.” He glared out the window, at the trail of dust Fisk’s carriage had stirred up. “I guess it’s a risk I have to take.”

“What? No. Steve, you have to do this.”

Steve turned to Bucky, surprised. “You hate him.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said easily, “But he has a point. I think you would do a decent job. I mean, anyone would be better than Pierce, and I’ll be damned if I live in a town that relies on Brock Rumlow for law and order, but… Why not?”

“I wasn’t planning on staying forever, Bucky,” Steve said, voice gentling. “I want to help you. I don’t—I’m not looking to get tied down.”

“Right. Well, I don’t think Fisk is giving you a choice, but if that’s what you think is best…”

“I’m going to the store,” Steve said, “Because we need flour, coffee, and nails. Do you want anything?”

Bucky shook his head, mute.

“Okay. Then I’ll see you later. Go take your laudanum and get back in bed. You’re shaking.”

“Yes,  _ mother _ ,” Bucky snapped. He shut the box and dropped it on the table on his way out of the room.

Steve sighed. He was getting used to navigating Bucky’s mercurial moods, but familiarity wasn’t making it any easier. He waited until he heard Bucky’s bedroom door shut, then took a few dollars out of Fisk’s box rather than go upstairs to get the money out of his nightstand. He hesitated, then took the sheriff’s badge too.

Chickens scattered in front of him as he walked out to the barn and got his horse saddled. She pushed her nose against his neck, hard, hot breath blowing against his skin as he adjusted the reins. She seemed restless and he let her go at a gallop into town, the breeze keeping them both comfortably cool despite the sun that was already hanging high in the sky. He turned Fisk’s offer over in his mind on the ride, examining it from all angles. He could see no way that it would end well, but he had to admit that it did appeal to his sense of duty and honor. It was clear to him, after almost a full week in Timely, that this town was sorely in need of proper justice. But it would be difficult to give the people the safety and security they were owed so long as Fisk was in charge.

“Rogers! Hey, Rogers!”

Sam was walking out of the doctor’s office and waving in Steve’s direction. Steve waved back, hitched his horse, and walked across the street.

“Nat said you’d decided to stay.”

“I’m helping Bucky out,” Steve agreed. “And—actually, preacher, d’you mind giving me your ear a minute? I could do with some advising, maybe on a spiritual level.”

Sam lifted an eyebrow. “Yeah, of course, brother. Nat’s place is closer. She’ll let us borrow one of her back rooms if you need some privacy.”

“That’d be good.”

Sam led Steve to the saloon and had Steve wait by the bar while he went around back to find Natasha. He wouldn’t have pegged Sam as much of a fan of Natasha and her bar and girls, but clearly there was some degree of amiability between them. He’d have to ask Bucky about that later if Bucky was in the mood to talk.

“Back this way, Steve,” Sam said, motioning Steve forward.

They were in a storeroom, glass jars of preserves and canned goods on shelves along one wall, and empty glass bottles on shelves along the other. A good-sized still, table, and chairs, took up the rest of the space.

“I was joking when I called it moonshine,” Steve commented, upon seeing the still.

“Vodka is easier to make than buy, or so Nat says. I wouldn’t know.” Sam took a seat and waited for Steve to sit down before saying, “So, what is it that troubles you? I know this is an…unconventional setting, but you can speak freely. Nat said no one would bother us.”

Steve took the badge out of his pocket and put it on the table in front of Sam.

“Yeah. Fisk asked after you,” Sam said. “I told him you were mighty good to May where Ben was concerned.”

“He’s asked me to be sheriff. Ordered me to be sheriff.” Sam was silent, giving Steve time to collect his thoughts. “I don’t think I can do it. I don’t know your people. I haven’t—” Steve tapped his fingers on the tabletop near the badge. “I was a soldier,” he said, keeping his eyes on the badge. “I know how to follow and give orders. I haven’t been a lawman before, but I think I could do it. I’m just not sure I should.”

“If you have the experience, what’s holding you back?”

“Is it the right thing to do?” Steve looked up, met Sam’s eye. “I think the mayor just wants another sheriff in his pocket. I won’t do that.”

“That makes you better than any sheriff we’ve ever had, then,” Sam said frankly. “If you’re worried that you’ll do a bad job of it… Brother, I think the fact you’re asking these questions of yourself is a good sign that you’ll do your best. That’s all any one of us can do.

“So, you think I should do it. Bucky did too. I told him I won’t be here long.” Steve picked up the badge, ran a finger over the engraved  _ Sheriff _ . “Do you think it’s possible for me to do it without caving into Fisk? I don’t want to be another Rumlow.”

“You and Brock Rumlow have about as much in common as oil and water,” Sam chuckled. He grew serious. “I think God sent you here for a reason. Fisk has never, to my knowledge, considered replacing Pierce. You ride in, and three days later he gives you that badge.”

Steve tucked it back into his pocket.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. I get your point. I’ll…think about it, but…”

“But you sound like you’ve already made up your mind.”

“I think I have,” Steve admitted. He got up and gave Sam a warm handshake. “I appreciate your time, Sam.”

“Hey, I’m here to listen.”

They walked out together, Sam updating Steve on Ben’s funeral and inviting him to Sunday service. Steve promised to consider it as they parted ways, Sam heading back to the church and Steve finally getting over the store. The badge was heavy as a stone in Steve’s pocket. Sam was right. He had made up his mind, for better or worse. He just had to have faith, like Sam, that it was the right choice.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve didn’t know if Bucky liked chocolate, but he bought a small bar anyway. He hadn’t had any since he’d left New York and thought it might cheer Bucky up. He also bought a bottle of Natasha’s vodka. If Bucky didn’t like the chocolate, Steve was sure he’d take the alcohol.

Bucky wasn’t downstairs when Steve got home. He took the feed out to the barn and brought the flour and goods in. He put everything away in the cupboards, then gathered up the chocolate and vodka and marched upstairs. Bucky’s door was ajar, and Steve could hear movement. At least Bucky was doing him the favor of at least playing at resting.

“Bucky?”

Steve pushed the door open. Bucky was propped against his headboard, staring out of the window. His room was neat, which didn’t surprise Steve all that much. The rest of the house and the barn were neat as a pin too. What was a little surprising was the small stack of books on the chest of drawers. Bucky even had one on his lap, though he was lost in thought and seemed to have forgotten it.

“Bucky.”

Bucky blinked and looked at Steve. “Oh, you’re back. What’s that?”

“Little treat.” Steve offered the chocolate and vodka. Bucky took the chocolate, then, after a second’s pause, the vodka. He set the bottle on the nightstand but turned the chocolate over in his hands. “How are you feeling?”

“Angry,” Bucky admitted. “I know I snapped at you earlier. You’ve been more than decent so far. I’m not mad at you.”

“I know, Buck.”

Surprise flashed in Bucky’s eyes, but he didn’t comment on the nickname. “I’m grateful you’re here. Everything would be a hell of a lot harder if I were doing all this alone.” He made space on his bed. “Here, sit. It’s hurting my neck staring up at you like this, you’re so damn tall.”

Steve sat on the edge of the bed. Bucky’s leg was warm against his back.

“So, you’re going to turn Fisk down.”

“Actually, a wise guy told me I ought to take him up on the offer.” Steve gave Bucky a pointed look. “Sam agrees with you, by the way.”

“Because I’m right,” Bucky said automatically. “But I don’t know how I changed your mind. You’re only here a few weeks. As soon as I can manage on my own, you’ll be gone and then what? I guess I see why you weren’t so sure. It does put the town in a mighty bad position when you leave and we don’t have anyone but Rumlow to take over.”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself.” Steve’s mouth curved in an amused smile. It was nice that Bucky apparently had faith that Steve would not only do the job, he’d do the job well enough that people would miss him if and when he left. The underlying assumption there was that Steve wasn’t going to end up as one of Fisk’s men. He didn’t have any intention of allowing himself to be beholden to anyone, but he didn’t know this town like Bucky did. “We’ll have to see if I’m a good fit.”

Bucky unwrapped the chocolate and took a bite off the corner. He broke into a grin so suddenly that he appeared to startle himself. It made him look younger.

“Sweet tooth, huh?” Steve said.

“I haven’t had chocolate since I was a kid,” Bucky replied. He jostled the bed as he shifted and resettled. “My ma would sometimes buy a little candy for my sisters and me, but I always gave my sisters some of mine.”

Steve could clearly imagine a smaller Bucky seriously dividing up his allotment of candies with a few little girls that Steve imagined shared Bucky’s dark hair and big blue eyes.

“Where are your sisters now?”

Bucky nibbled at the chocolate bar, let a small piece melt on his tongue. He was staring out of the window again, lost in thought. “Ah, married. Gone. They both moved as soon as they were able, and I don’t blame them. I had this place, so I thought I’d stick out. I mean, where else would I go? I don’t have much to offer a big city and I couldn’t afford to follow them west…”

“Cities aren’t all they’re cracked up to be,” Steve said. He watched Bucky quietly a beat. When he followed Bucky’s gaze, he saw the silhouette of main street framed by a few trees near the house. Bucky’d probably had a good view of Steve riding to and from town. “Trust me. It’s much better out here where you’ve got all the fresh air a man could want. Your own land. A house. It’s peaceful.”

“Quieter without the girls, yeah. Peaceful’s as good a word as any,” Bucky agreed.

“I wouldn’t know about that. I don’t have any brothers or sisters.”

“What was that like?” Bucky offered Steve the chocolate without turning his head. Steve broke a small piece off and handed the rest back. Bucky’s eyes flicked sharply back to Steve’s when their fingers brushed.

“Growing up alone? Well… Lonely,” Steve mused. “I was sick a lot, too, so I spent a lot of time in bed reading. It’s hard to make friends that way, but it’s not a bad pastime,” He glanced pointedly at Bucky’s books scattered around his room. “Looks like you know something about that. You’ve got plenty to read while you’re up here. Got a favorite?”

“ _The Three Musketeers_ , maybe. Or, no. _Masterman Ready_.”

“Adventure stories,” Steve said knowingly. He wondered if he was imagining Bucky’s light flush.

“Hey, it’s more exciting than milking cows.” Bucky carefully wrapped up the rest of his chocolate and set it aside on his nightstand. “Not that I mind cows, but I’d rather read stories about say, King Arthur than ranching. What about you? Bet you read a lot of war stories.” 

Steve’s stomach turned. He made a point not to talk about his time in service. It wasn’t the sort of thing that made for pleasant thoughts and sound sleep. He rubbed a hand on his knee. “I’ve never much liked guns.”

Bucky moved around again, obviously restless. He bumped gently against Steve with every movement. It made Steve very aware that he hadn’t had much contact with another living person in some time. 

“I, uh. I guess if I had to pick a favorite book, I used to go nuts for _Children of the New Forest_ when I was a kid,” Steve offered. “ _Tom Sawyer_ was good. When I was older, I liked all those horror stories by—oh. What’s his name?”

“Poe.”

“Yeah, him. There’s this one story where this man is frightened of being buried alive. He tells you about all these stories of people who were accidentally buried alive, then he thinks _he’s_ been buried alive. But he wakes up and it was all a nightmare; he was really on a bunk below deck on a ship.”

Bucky listened intently.

“That one had me scared to get sick again,” Steve said sheepishly. It had made a lot of sense to eleven year old Steve that he had to force himself to grow out of his childhood illnesses quickly because of that story. In a way, it had sort of worked. He was certainly stronger and healthier than anyone who’d seen him as a child could’ve expected. “Come to think of it, I haven’t been sick since that story.”

Bucky laughed. “You’re pulling my leg.”

“You read that story and get back to me. You’ll see what I mean.”

“I’ve only ever read one of his poems. My sister Becca had a poetry book she used to carry around everywhere. I think she hoped it’d impress the boys.”

“Did it?”

“She married a schoolteacher, so it must have.”

It was Steve’s turn to laugh.

It felt like something had snapped. Bucky was still pale and looked like he felt miserable, but he was also more relaxed than Steve had seen him in the four or five days Steve had known him. Some combination of the doctor’s tonics and chocolate was likely doing him a world of good. Steve would have to make a point of buying more candies. As he thought about this, Steve realized that he, too, felt more relaxed than he had in a few days, even despite the ache in his shoulders from the work he’d been doing.

Steve leaned back, propping a hand on Bucky’s bed. He put his hand down on Bucky’s ankle first, and quickly moved it to the mattress.

“Sorry about that.”

“No problem,” Bucky said in a more subdued tone. “You know, we have a church social once a month. Most of the time it’s a dinner. Everyone brings a dish. We use Nat’s place—it has the most tables. Ali almost always ends up playing piano for us so we can dance a while.”

“That sounds better than the masses I used to sit through,” Steve said. He had visions of waking early with his mother, bundling up, and trudging down the street to the church in the snow every winter. It was almost as bad as having to put on his suit so he could sweat down in the summer.

“Sam’s a good guy,” Bucky agreed. “Anyway. I can’t… With my arm shot to hell—hah, that’s true. That’s what happened. What was I saying?” 

“You were telling me you what you can’t do,” Steve prompted, a lazy smile playing on his lips.

“Yes. I can’t dance like this. Bruce’ll probably be pissed that I left home to go, but I haven’t missed a social since Sam started doing this. I’m not about to miss one now. I have a reputation in this town.”

Steve remembered May telling him that some company would do Bucky good.

“What do you think?”

“Come again?” Steve asked apologetically. “Sorry, lost in thought. If you were asking whether I’ll rat you out to the good doctor, the answer is no. You already know how I feel about pushing yourself too much too soon.”

This time, Steve was certain there was a touch of pink in Bucky’s cheeks and forehead. “No, uh. I was asking if you’d want to go?”

“To the social?”

“With me. It’s fine if you don’t. I know I’m keeping you busy around here. Shit, weren’t you going to work on the fence today? And I’ve got you sitting in here with me.” Bucky frowned. “I’m wasting your time.”

“It’s too hot to mess with that right now, and you’re not a waste of time, Bucky,” Steve assured him. He’d figured out two days into tending the vegetables that anything later than eight or nine in the morning was simply too hot to do any kind of cutting, picking, weeding, or watering. He had the supplies ready in the barn, but no plans to begin mending the fence until later in the afternoon when it started to cool off again. “I don’t know that I’ve got anything fit to wear to church…”

“It’s all very informal,” Bucky said quickly. “It’s just an excuse to get together and eat and dance. After six, Nat opens the bar, too. You can drink as much of her—what did you call it? ‘poison’? You can have as much of it as you want.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I know better than to let her get me drunk again. And I think the sheriff has to set a better example than all that. But,” he hastened to add, noticing Bucky’s crestfallen expression, “I’d like that. Going with you to the social.”

“Yeah?”

“Why not? It’ll be a good time,” Steve said.

Bucky hummed thoughtfully and nodded. “A great time watching you not drink and me not dance.”

“It’s a good thing I’m a dazzling conversationalist.”

“Holy shit.” Bucky pressed his face into his hand, laughing so hard his shoulders shook. “That hurts, damn. Warn me before you say something funny next time.”

“I was being serious, mister!” Steve feigned outrage, though he found that he delighted in hearing Bucky laugh. He managed a straight face for a breath or two before he cracked. 

“Sure you were,” Bucky said between laughs. After another minute, he caught his breath and calmed down. Bucky’s color was definitely better, Steve thought, and his eyes were a little brighter when he was happy. It was a good look on him.

“When is this social?”

“It’s always the second Sunday evening of the month, so… Unless I lost track of time—which is possible, damn that medicine—you’ve got a few days.”

“You better rest up, then, Buck, so you’re fresh and ready to go.” And while he did, Steve would rebuild the fence, make their dinner, and then sit down to come up with a strategy for his first day as sheriff. He had a feeling it was going to the most difficult job he’d taken on yet.


	7. Chapter 7

Bucky was not only awake before Steve the next morning, he was sitting at the dining table with a pot of coffee, eggs, sausage, and cheese. He’d even set some fruit out, which was a welcome change of pace. Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten an apple. They didn’t tend to travel well, not like the canned beans and vegetables and wild game he usually relied on. Bucky looked tired.

“Did you sleep at all?” Steve asked, buttoning his shirt and tucking in the tails. He’d opted for a red shirt he’d gotten from May Parker with the only waistcoat he owned. He doubted he’d dress up every day, but he thought it was important to make a good impression on his first day. He’d pinned his new badge to his chest already.

“No,” Bucky admitted. “I tried, but my damn arm ached so much it was hard to ignore. Not even the medicine helped. Anyway, I thought if I was going to be up anyway, I might as well feed you and see you off.”

“That’s mighty kind of you, Buck.”

“Yeah, well, I can be nice sometimes,” Bucky grumbled. “Just not so early in the morning, usually. Sit down and eat before it gets cold, Rogers.”

Steve sat and filled a plate. The eggs were still runny, and the sausage had already gone a little cold, but he appreciated the effort Bucky had gone to. He picked up an apple and took a bite. It crunched pleasantly. The sour sweet juice made him smile. “Are you going to be okay while I’m gone today?”

“You know, I’ve lived here alone for years,” Bucky said, “and you haven’t been here more than a week. I’ll be fine.” His expression softened some and he added, “I ain’t gonna strain myself, if that’s what you’re really asking. I tired myself out walking around that kitchen.”

Steve finished his apple, then poured them each a cup of coffee and said, “I guess I’ll be gone most all day, but I should still be back in plenty of time to get the animals settled and make dinner.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, pal, I’m going to be fine,” Bucky said again. He sipped at his coffee. “What about you? I expect you’ll see Rumlow today. Are you ready for that?”

“I have to be, don’t I?”

“I reckon so,” Bucky acknowledged. “Still, you put any thought into what you’re going to do about him? I know Fisk said you could pick your own deputy, but I’ve been thinking about it and, Steve, I don’t know you should.”

Steve set his fork down. “Why not? Rumlow’s reckless. He’ll get more people killed if I let him alone.”

“But do you really want to piss Fisk off sooner than you have to?” Bucky countered. He rubbed absentmindedly at his injured arm, jaw clenching against the dull throb Steve was sure he was still feeling. Gunshots weren’t ever fun. “Believe me, I want a change, but one thing at a time, you know? If you go changing things up too soon, you’re just going to end up in trouble.”

“Bucky…”

“Look, who here was born and raised in this backwater, huh? I know what I’m talking about.”

“Okay.” Steve went back to his meal. He was stalling and he knew it. Better to get into town and get the first day over with. He was under no illusions it’d get easier from there, but at least the anticipation wouldn’t be hanging over his head.

“Okay?” Bucky echoed suspiciously. He narrowed his eyes at Steve like he was trying to read his thoughts. “What do you mean ‘okay’?”

“I mean ‘okay,’” Steve said. “Maybe you’re right. I wasn’t planning on sending him packing first thing anyway. So… we’ll see what happens.” He finished the rest of his eggs and stuck the rest of the sausage in his mouth as he rose to clean up. “I’ll do the feeding and then head out. You can look for me this afternoon, I guess.”

Bucky still frowned at him from his place at the dining table.

Steve paused, plates in hand, to shoot Bucky a little grin. “Careful. You keep making that face and it might get stuck that way.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and pulled a silly face. “Is this better?”

“Very handsome,” Steve agreed, grin widening. “It’s a wonder you aren’t married yet.”

Bucky blushed and returned to his coffee with renewed interest. “Don’t you have a job to get to, sheriff?”

Steve did. He cleaned up the kitchen for Bucky, aware that Bucky likely wouldn’t have the energy to come back to it himself later, then packed up the remaining sausage and two apples for his lunch. He briefly considered making something for Bucky’s midday meal but decided against it; there was still plenty of sausage and fruit left. Steve would stop by the store on the way home and see if he could put together a nicer dinner for them to share.

By the time he fed the animals, washed up, and rode into town, it was mid-morning. He waved hello to Natasha, who was sweeping the porch to her building, and to the blacksmith, Stark, who he’d briefly met in passing in the store. Natasha’s mouth curled up at the corner and she nodded in his direction. Stark’s gaze caught on Steve’s sheriff’s badge and turned cold. Steve sighed. He expected he’d get a lot of that from people who had no reason to expect him to be any better or different than their last sheriff.

Sam was waiting for him at the jail.

“Are you going to bless me before I get started?” Steve asked, hitching his horse in the shade. “That’s enough to give a man confidence.”

“Thought you might want to know that you’ve got some people on your side,” Sam said.

“I appreciate the thought, Sam.”

Steve fished the key out of his pocket and let them both in. The cells sat empty and neglected to one side, two desks, chairs, and a small shelf on the other. Upon closer inspection, Steve could tell that nothing in the jail had been touched for some time. Not surprising, he supposed, if the last sheriff wasn’t really doing his job and Rumlow was running wild. He gestured for Sam to take a chair and settled himself behind the sheriff’s desk.

“This isn’t so bad,” Steve commented. “I thought it’d be smaller.”

“Needs a good dusting.”

“Lucky I don’t mind cleaning.”

“Need a hand? I’ve got some free time this morning.”

With Sam’s help, Steve went down the street to borrow a bucket and rags from Natasha’s. They rolled up their sleeves and began tackling the dust and grit that covered every surface of the jail. Steve even went into the cells and gave them a good scrub down. He figured it was only right that the place be clean for the poor souls that were destined to spend some time there. The law called for order and justice, but that didn’t mean he had to be unduly forceful or negligent.

Midday, they took a break, propping their feet up on the newly cleaned desks. Steve tossed Sam an apple and they split the sausage, laughing and enjoying each other’s company.

“You know, if you weren’t already busy being a man of God and all, I’d ask you to work with me,” Steve said through a mouthful of apple. “Mayor did say I could take on people if I needed to.”

“If God hadn’t called me first, maybe I would’ve taken you up on that offer.”

Outside, they could hear horses galloping down the street and men cursing and joking with one another. Sam and Steve looked at one another with identical expressions of apprehension. Steve could hear no fewer than four men, and they were getting louder. He was on his feet when Rumlow threw the door open and strolled in, one hand on the gun at his hip, the other hooked in his belt.

“Afternoon, preacher. Afternoon…,” he paused, sizing Steve up. “Sheriff.”

“Rumlow,” Steve said shortly.

“Me and the boys had to come see for ourselves whether it was true, but I guess Fisk finally did retire Pierce. It’s a damn shame, if you ask me. He was a fine sheriff, been at it these last thirty years at least.” Rumlow turned his head and spit on the floor near the cell door. “Yes, sir. It’s a damn shame he didn’t go out on his own terms, but you got to reckon the mayor knows what he’s doing, huh? And he seems to think you should have that badge, stranger.”

“Rogers,” Steve said. “Steve Rogers.”

“That’s  _ Sheriff _ Rogers to you,” Sam interjected.

Rumlow eyed Sam a moment. “Uh huh. Well you’re going to find yourself bored to tears,  _ sheriff _ . Ain’t got much going on out here.”

“Sure,” Steve said shortly. “That doesn’t bother me.”

The tension in the room was palpable. Steve watched Rumlow closely. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d come to stir up trouble. Maybe if he’d come alone… But his gang outside made Steve uneasy. Rumlow still hadn’t taken his hand off his gun either. Steve had one, but he hadn’t worn it into the jail. It was still on his horse. He knew that Rumlow had noticed he wasn’t wearing a gun belt. This was meant to be a casual display of power.

Suddenly, a woman screamed. Steve pushed past Rumlow to hurry outside, Sam hot on his heels. Rumlow’s men had formed a loose circle around a young woman. One of the men had her by the arm and was pulling at her jewelry. Her horse had taken off down the street, toward Stark’s. They must have dragged her down off her saddle.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Steve shouted angrily, pushing his way into the group. He punched the man before he could make any excuses, then turned on the others. “Somebody make this make sense.”

“Hey, hey. Calm down, Rogers,” Rumlow said from the doorway of the jail. He sounded amused and looked close to laughter. “You can’t blame the boy for getting rowdy. Look at her.”

“What does  _ that _ mean?” the woman demanded, straightening her clothes and brushing the dirt from her pants. “I came to trade with the blacksmith, not to be harassed by childish men.” She turned to Steve. “Is it true? You are sheriff?”

That did make Rumlow laugh. “You picked a feisty one, Ward!” he said to the man Steve had punched. He was still picking himself up off the ground, rubbing angrily at his jaw. “Unless our new sheriff wants to try his hand at breaking her in.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m the sheriff,” Steve said to the woman, ignoring Rumlow. He gestured to Stark’s shop at the end of the street. “Let me walk you over.”

Rumlow’s men made way for them, clearly unsure whether they should listen to Rumlow or Steve. Sam followed behind, putting another person between the woman and the group. She kept her head held high, arms at her sides, though Steve could see she’d curled trembling hands into fists.

“I’m so sorry that happened,” he said. “It’s my first day. I haven’t had time to get anyone in line.”

“I don’t know anything about you,” she said, “but if you allow men like that to work with you, then you won’t be any better than the man who came before you. The old sheriff wasn’t concerned with making your town welcoming to me or my family, but we are as much a part of this town as any of them, Mr…”

“Rogers. Steve Rogers.”

“I’m Dani Moonstar.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Moonstar,” Steve said. “I only wish it were under better circumstances.” They came to a stop in front of Stark’s shop. It smelled like hot oil. Every few seconds the clink of hammer on metal drifted through the open window. “I’ll talk to Rumlow.”

“It is not always enough to talk,” Dani said. She turned, gaze flickering over Steve’s shoulder to the men still hanging around the front of the jail. “Those men have abused their position for years. They often ride by and damage my father’s property for fun. In winter, they steal food—not only from my family, but from any family unfortunate enough to cross them. They’re—”

“Criminals,” Steve said. He looked to Sam, who had caught Dani’s horse and led it over. Sam nodded at his assessment.

“Yes,” she agreed.

“Can you shoot a gun?”

She looked startled by the question. “Yes, of course. And I ride, but I cannot drive them off our land for fear of retribution, not so long as they can call themselves the law.”

“If I fire Rumlow, I’ll need a new deputy. Maybe you ought to do it.” Steve surprised himself with the suggestion. Just that morning he’d promised Bucky not to make waves until people knew him better, and now he was impulsively asking a woman he’d just met to be his deputy. Maybe Timely was starting to rub off on him, he thought, remembering how readily May, Sam, and Bucky had taken to him right off. He had a good feeling about Dani, though. She reminded him a good deal of Peggy.

“You aren’t serious,” Dani said, mouth dropping open in shock.

“You can’t be!” Sam said.

“I am.” Steve projected more confidence than he felt. If he was wrong, so be it. He’d been wrong before. But if he was right—and he thought he was; his time in the military had honed his intuition for a person’s character—then Dani would be a good fit for the job.

“Steve,” Sam said. “Don’t you think you should think about it before you go making that gang mad...?”

“I’ll do it,” Dani said quickly. She paled, but took a breath, steeling herself. “If you’re serious about your offer, I’ll do it.”

“I’m very serious, Deputy Moonstar.” Steve looked from Dani and Sam to Rumlow and his gang. Seeing no reason to prolong the inevitable, he left Dani and Sam at the blacksmith’s, ignoring their protests, and marched back down the street to the jail. Rumlow was still lounging in the doorway, looking for all the world like he owned the place. Steve suddenly felt the peace in knowing he was doing the right thing, at least, by giving Rumlow the boot. He would never be able to give the people of Timely the peace of a lawful town if he had to keep an eye on Rumlow.

“All done with the damsel in distress?” Rumlow asked, voice mocking.

“Yeah, about that. I promised the mayor I’d give you a chance and, well. The way I see it, you’ve had your chance. You’re going to have to find another job, Rumlow. You and all your boys.”

“Come again?”

“You heard me.” Steve was outnumbered. This became clear when the gang surrounded him. He thought he had a good chance of taking down the two closest to him, but there were a half dozen including Rumlow. And they were armed. He still didn’t have his gun. His mouth was suddenly dry. He rolled his shoulders. He hadn’t gotten into a fistfight like this in months, maybe closing in on a year.

“You think you can just waltz in and change things?” Rumlow growled. “I got news for you, Rogers. It don’t matter who’s sheriff. As long as Fisk’s in charge, me and my boys run this town.”

“Maybe,” Steve said, “but you aren’t going to hide behind the law to do it anymore.”

Rumlow whistled loud and sharp. In the next breath, the group converged on Steve, each man going for his arms and legs, attempting to immobilize him. As he predicted, Steve was able to land a few good hits on the two directly in front of him; the first man dropped silently, the other stumbling to the ground and moaning as he clutched at his stomach. Then the other four were able to catch Steve’s arms and dodge his attempts to kick his way free. Rumlow shook his head as he pushed away from the jail door.

“Never met a man that had a death wish as strong as yours,” he said, then hit Steve directly in the face.

Steve’s head snapped sideways, and he tasted iron. He thought he might’ve bitten his tongue, but it was difficult to tell. Rumlow kept hitting him until Steve sagged in the men’s grasp. He saw a cloud floating by, obscuring the sun, then slipped into unconsciousness as the gang gathered around him, gleefully kicking him in the stomach and ribs.


	8. Chapter 8

Steve woke gradually, vision swimming. At first, he felt nothing but heat, then he realized it was because his entire body was in pain. His nose felt broken and it hurt to breathe. It was such a familiar sensation from his boyhood that it took him long moments to orient himself. He wasn’t in the cramped bed he’d shared with his mother. He was in an unfamiliar bedroom that was cool and dark and quiet. The coverlet beneath his hand felt like velvet.

“On your left,” a voice said.

Steve took a breath, ignoring the pain and accompanying wave of nausea, and slowly pushed himself upright. The room pitched around alarmingly before settling, allowing Steve to see that Sam was sitting in a chair by the bed.

“How’s the head?” Sam asked.

“Been better,” Steve said hoarsely. “Where am I? This doesn’t look like a preacher’s house.”

“That’s because it isn’t.”

Steve turned slowly, blinking against the pain, and saw Natasha at the foot of the bed. His cheeks heated and he was suddenly very aware that someone had removed his shirt to wrap his ribs. “Ma’am.”

“You’re in my bed, Steve,” Natasha said, amused. “You can call me Nat now.”

“Hey, no funny business,” Sam said. He scowled at Natasha’s flirtatious smile.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Natasha rounded the end of the bed and pressed a kiss to Sam’s cheek. “You’re the one who brought him here.” She winked at Steve, apparently just to make his face burn hotter, then kissed Sam again, this time on the mouth. “You two behave yourselves. I’ve got a bar to run.”

Steve stared at Sam, dumbfounded.

“So…,” Sam said, jumping when Natasha pulled the door shut with a decisive click. “It hadn’t come up yet, but…” He gestured expansively. “We’ve been going together a while. I know folks who won’t be all that pleased with me when they find out, and it’s better for her business if folks think she isn’t spoken for, so… we haven’t told many people. Just her girls, Bucky, and you.”

Suddenly, the small intimacies of Sam borrowing Natasha’s back room to talk with Steve and the fond smiles when Steve mentioned Natasha made sense. He would never have expected to see a preacher with a working girl, but he’d seen stranger things in his life. He hadn’t known Sam long, but it was good to see him happy. Steve told him as much.

“Happy? Brother, I’m in love,” Sam smiled.

“Then that’s all that matters,” Steve said. “Life’s hard enough as it is without giving up love when it finds you.” He shifted, a sharp pain causing his breath to catch in his throat. He breathed out slowly, waiting for the pain to recede. “How long was I out?”

“Most of the afternoon.” Sam put a hand on Steve’s arm to prevent him from trying to get up. “Hey, hey. Easy there, man. You were in bad shape, but Bruce was the one that made the call to put you out longer. He gave you painkiller while he was wrapping your ribs and fixing up your nose. Said it’d be better if you took a few hours to let your body do its thing.”

Steve remembered his last conversation with Bucky. He was going to be upset that Steve was late in getting back. When Steve explained to him the reasons why, he was probably going to be angry.

“Bucky…,” he began.

“Can wait for you to get home,” Sam said. “Is he working you so hard you can’t miss an afternoon?”

“No.” Steve settled back against the pillows, rested a hand absently on his chest. He tried to think of how to frame his thoughts in a way Sam would follow. “I like him. We get on well. I like the farm a lot. I hadn’t been on one before all this.”

“You said you’d been in service.”

Steve hummed in agreement, not eager to delve into the deeper conversation that lurked there despite Sam’s obvious restrained curiosity. “Yeah. Well. I like Bucky’s farm. It’s peaceful. It’s starting to feel like home, you know? Bucky is…” Steve stopped himself abruptly. Not until he’d almost said _Bucky’s starting to feel like home_ had he been aware that he was beginning to think that way about Bucky. He tended to get attached quickly, which in turn tended not to end well. He swallowed thickly.

“Some people would have a problem with that,” Sam said quietly, causing Steve to focus on him again. “Lots of guys in my position would, I know that, but I don’t think it’s my place to judge. My job is to love, like we were asked and instructed to in the Good Book.” He paused, gave Steve an impish little grin. “Besides, a pretty smart guy just told me ‘Life’s hard enough as it is without giving up love when it finds you.’”

Steve tapped his fingers against his chest, just over his heart. “I never said anything about love, preacher.”

“You didn’t have to. Just—keep it in mind, Steve.”

There was a beat, then Steve gathered his strength and pushed himself fully upright with a groan. It hurt to move, to breathe. He sat on the edge of the bed and gave the room a moment to stop tilting. He waved off Sam’s offer to help him up; he was stiff and sore, but once he got moving he’d be okay. He’d been in worse positions, at any rate.

“I appreciate the help as always, Sam, but I think I need to get home.”

“Yeah, I guess you shouldn’t keep your boy waiting.”

Steve steadfastly ignored the blush creeping down his neck and slowly shuffled to the door. Sam laughed, but guided him out of Natasha’s room and downstairs. He was pleasantly surprised to find that it was still light out. Natasha’s room had been so dark, and he was still so disoriented, that he had felt certain that he was going to be riding home in the moonlight. Steve allowed Sam to help him step up into his saddle.

“You sure you’re okay to ride back?” Sam asked, concerned. “You look like you’re about to be sick.”

“I’ll be fine. Thank Natasha for me?”

“I look forward to hearing how things go with Bucky.” Sam patted Steve’s horse and stepped back. “Ride carefully.”

He needn’t have warned Steve. Every step made his teeth rattle and his head ache. He set a slow pace, taking his time in getting back. He wanted to be home immediately and yearned for both his bed in Bucky’s spare room and a full night’s sleep. Maybe, he thought wistfully, something to eat too, if he could keep it down. He hadn’t had much since the lunch he’d split with Sam, which felt like another lifetime ago now. 

Bucky was waiting on the porch. He was sitting on the step, arm carefully arranged in his lap, watching the road. Steve wondered if Bucky had been sitting there long, or if he’d waited to see Steve riding up the road and then gone down to meet him. The closer he got to the house, the more Steve decided it didn’t matter how long Bucky had been waiting. He’d been out there too long. Steve took his time putting his horse up for the night, gritting his teeth when it came time to lift the saddle.

He was counting his breaths, slow and even, as he stumbled back to the house.

“You look like shit.”

“It’s good to see you too, Buck,” Steve said. He came to a stop at the foot of the stairs, jaw clenched to hide his pain. He bit his lip and folded his arms across his chest, forcing himself to affect an air of nonchalance. He wasn’t going to make Bucky worry more than necessary. “What are you doing out here?”

“You were supposed to be back two hours ago,” Bucky said flatly. “I’ve been waiting for you, you ass.”

“I got—busy. At work.”

“That why you’ve got a black eye?” Bucky asked.

Steve winced. He hadn’t seen what he looked like, but he’d not considered the possibility that he might look as bad as he felt. Little wonder Bucky looked so angry. “It was a busy day. Did you have dinner?”

“Steve, stop. Just tell me what the hell’s going on.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

“Like hell there isn’t!” Bucky shouted. He stood up, agitated, and marched down the steps, got right into Steve’s face. “You did it, didn’t you?” he demanded. “You went and pissed Rumlow off? Right after you _promised_ me you wouldn’t?”

Steve couldn’t deny it and didn’t want to lie. He kept his mouth shut.

“This is where you say something, Rogers.”

“Take a step back, Buck. Calm down.” Steve knew immediately that it was the wrong thing to say. Bucky’s expression shuttered. “Okay, okay. Fine. Yes, I messed up. I had a—run in. With Rumlow.” He hesitated, but Bucky continued to glower. Steve sighed, shoulders dropping. “They were harassing a girl, Bucky. I couldn’t stand by and let them do that.”

“So, you got into a fight over some girl’s honor?”

“Not…exactly.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I gave him the boot. He’s a thug. He shouldn’t get to hide behind a badge.” Steve felt like squirming but continued to meet Bucky’s gaze. He had a feeling Bucky would expect nothing less than honesty. “He didn’t take too kindly to the news. I’m guessing he won’t be any happier when he finds out she’s replacing him.”

“The girl?”

Steve nodded mutely. Bucky’s lips were pressed so tightly together, they were a thin white line that drew Steve’s gaze. He realized he was staring and thought of Sam’s advice. It was certainly not the time or place to admit to Bucky that he was starting to feel comfortable in his house, that he was starting to feel comfortable with Bucky.

“Goddamn it, Steve. I told you not to make an enemy of Rumlow!”

Bucky pushed Steve, sharp and sudden. Steve stumbled and almost fell. He caught himself at the last second, gasping, “Bucky!”

Bucky was pale, though Steve couldn’t tell if it was because it had hurt him too or if it was because he felt bad for almost knocking Steve to the ground. He took a step forward, as though to offer Steve a hand, then stopped short. He ran his good hand down his face and looked up at the sky for a long moment. “I’ve got work to do,” Bucky said shortly. “You should go—clean up. You look like a goddamn mess.”

“It looks worse than it is,” Steve said reflexively. “I promise you that. It’s not that bad.”

“Do you think your promises mean anything right now?” Bucky shot back.

Steve took a few steps over to the stairs and dropped heavily on the lower step. He watched Bucky warily. There wasn’t anything he could say or do, he realized, that was going to make things better right now. He was going to have to let Bucky be angry and see if he could get him to accept an apology in the morning, as unlikely as that seemed.

“You shouldn’t strain yourself,” he said eventually. “I can still work.”

“Yeah, maybe, but I think I need to get away from you.” Bucky looked Steve over one more time, then turned on his heel and stomped out to the barn. It sounded like he was muttering to himself, though Steve couldn’t be sure. 

Steve waited until Bucky was out of sight to drop his head in his hands. It was just his luck that as he was starting to figure things out, he’d messed them up. He’d always been reasonably good at finding his way out of trouble, but from where he was sitting now it was hard to see any way out of this mess with Bucky. And he knew that Bucky was right. He had made an enemy that was going to make his work as sheriff more difficult.

Maybe staying had been a mistake after all.

art by [Stucky1980](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stucky1980)


	9. Chapter 9

Steve slept fitfully. It was difficult, without Banner’s help, to fall asleep for all the aches and bruises. It didn’t help that, after cleaning up and dragging himself upstairs, Steve listened in vain for Bucky’s step on the stairs. If Bucky went to bed, Steve certainly hadn’t heard it. In fact, as Steve tossed and turned, he wasn’t sure Bucky was even in the house. He couldn’t imagine Bucky tacking up his horse all on his own though, nor could he picture Bucky being mad enough to leave Steve alone in his house. Not when he could toss Steve out on his ear if he really wanted him gone.

The morning came too quickly and not quickly enough; Steve stretched and dressed. He was slower moving and stiffer than he had been before the beating, but already it was improving. He grunted as he moved around the kitchen, setting about making the morning coffee.

“I thought you’d be asleep longer.”

Steve started and almost dropped the pot. He turned. Bucky was hovering uncertainly in the doorway. He had dark circles under his eyes and a tired slope to his posture. “I didn’t hear you come in, Bucky.”

“I know.”

Steve cast around for a topic of conversation, but it was not unlike walking unstable ground. A misstep could be disastrous. “I—Are you okay?” he settled on. “You look tired and…I didn’t hear you come in last night.” Steve didn’t think he was imagining Bucky’s pained look. That was not a good sign.

“Listen, I think we need to talk.”

That was an even worse sign.

“Alright. If you say so.” Even though Steve had spent most of the night coming up with a plan in the very likely case Bucky asked him to leave, he was still taken aback. He set the coffee aside and wiped his hands on his jeans.

Bucky’s eyes flicked away. Steve followed him through the house to the front room, where they ended up perched on opposite sides of the room. Steve was uneasy. He thought Bucky had to be uncomfortable as well, because there was a tension in the air that he could practically feel like a physical touch. He shuddered.

“So,” Bucky began.

“I should—” Steve said at the same time.

Bucky flushed. “You can go first.”

“No, you can,” Steve said quickly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“I, ah. I was just going to apologize. For my reaction last night.”

Steve opened his mouth, then closed it again, momentarily derailed. Of all the things he’d thought Bucky might say, it had never occurred to him that Bucky might apologize. Not when Steve had clearly been the one to mess up.

“It’s…,” Bucky sighed and studied his hands. “I’m getting better, you know? But slowly. My arm still hurts all the fucking time. I… did stress it last night. Bruce’ll be angry with me for that if he ever finds out. Which I reckon he might if I did permanent damage, who knows?” Bucky trailed off, frowning, and shook his head. “I’m not bein’ clear here. What I’m trying to say is, this whole thing with Rumlow has been bad from the start.”

“Buck,” Steve began.

“No, hang on, let me finish. This whole thing with Rumlow has been awful. You’ve been the only good part and I’ve been taking all my frustration out on you.” Bucky worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “It ain’t fair, but that’s how it’s played out. You don’t deserve that. I know you’re trying your best. You didn’t ask for none of this.”

“It was my fault,” Steve said quietly, when it seemed like Bucky had finished. “That’s what I was going to say. I was going to say sorry because you were right. I’ve gotten myself into a mess with Rumlow’s gang, but, Buck, if you’d seen the way they were lording around town yesterday…

“They’ve always been that way, Steve.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

They both fell silent. Steve could hear the clock ticking on the mantle and counted the seconds. They made it almost a full minute before Bucky spoke again.

“Maybe. Maybe not. I guess what I’m saying is that I know I was hard on you but, shit, Steve. You didn’t see what you looked like when you came dragging in yesterday. You looked fit to fall out of the saddle. I thought you’d been  _ shot _ . And then you walked up, and I saw you hadn’t been shot, but you  _ had _ been beat to hell. Your nose is broken,” he added suddenly, narrowing his eyes as he peered at Steve. “I didn’t see that last night.”

“They… Yeah. They got me pretty good,” Steve admitted.

“See, that’s what I mean. I had plenty of time yesterday to worry about what Rumlow might do to you. Imagine how it felt to see you come home looking like one of my nightmares.”

Steve carefully got up to his feet and went to Bucky. He had to kneel to get to eye level, which made his ribs protest. It was worth it. This close, Steve could read Bucky better. “I misjudged the situation,” he said. “I should’ve taken your advice. I’m sorry I didn’t and that it frightened you, Bucky.”

“I don’t want you to die,” Bucky said. “I feel like we’re just getting started here.”

They were silent again, but the tension had certainly shifted. Bucky was still chewing his lip, which Steve had a hard time not watching, especially this close. It made him aware that his own lips felt dry. He licked them and felt Bucky zero in on that. Slowly, Steve dragged his eyes up to meet Bucky’s again. They gazed at each other warily, as though a sudden move from either of them might ruin the moment. Then, just as carefully, Steve leaned forward, Bucky following his lead and meeting him halfway.

The kiss was light, tentative. It was more like a mutual exchange of breath than any kiss Steve had ever had before. Steve didn’t push, afraid that if he was too demanding Bucky might come to his senses and demand he leave. Bucky didn’t push either, though it gradually dawned on Steve that Bucky might be attempting to be gentle out of concern for Steve’s nose and bruising. With that realization, Steve did dare press his mouth to Bucky’s more firmly, ignoring the twinge in his muscles when he lifted his hands to gently card them through Bucky’s hair.

“Steve,” Bucky murmured hot against his lips.

“Shh.”

Steve kissed him again, until they were both breathless, then sat back on his heel.

“I didn’t think you’d want to do that after the way I showed my ass last night,” Bucky said, eyes wide. He licked at his lips, his cheeks pink. “I didn’t think I’d want to do that either, but I thought I might’ve run you off.”

“We don’t have to do it again,” Steve started, but Bucky spoke over him.

“Oh, no. We’re doing that again. If you want.”

Steve nodded. “I do.”

“Okay. I do too, Bucky said.

They stared at each other. This time, Steve counted about ten seconds before Bucky cracked. It started as a giggle, then erupted into full belly laughter that had Bucky doubling over. That set Steve off, tears welling from laughing so hard.

“You’re crazy,” Bucky wheezed. “You’re insane. You could get out of here, but you want to stay and kiss me.”

“ _ You _ want to kiss  _ me _ ,” Steve countered between peals of laughter. “You’re calling me crazy and you want to kiss me.”

“You’re trying,” Bucky gasped, “to bring  _ law and order _ to this town.”

“I’m  _ sheriff _ .”

Steve clutched at his sides. They felt like they were on fire, but it didn’t feel bad, exactly. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so hard. It was unexpected and cathartic. Still laughing, he leaned forward to kiss Bucky again.

“Crazy,” Bucky muttered, but he was calmer. He smiled brightly at Steve. “Come on. Breakfast time. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

In fact, Steve was. He got to his feet with creaking and cracking, and stretched his sore muscles. He didn’t have to wonder whether he was seeing things. Bucky was openly eyeing him as he moved. Steve winked just to see Bucky’s skin pink again, then ambled into the kitchen to put their meal together.

They didn’t, as they ate, talk about what those kisses meant for their arrangement. Steve supposed that as long as Bucky didn’t tell him to get gone, he was welcome in the house. So he was content to stay until Bucky decided he was sick of him, or he was obliged for some other reason to find other lodging. Bucky did admit, as he gingerly rested his left arm on the dining table, that even though he thought Steve had gone about it the wrong way, he approved of Steve’s new deputy.

“She’s a good girl. Hell of a shot.”

“Yeah?” Steve asked, curious.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve been hunting with her and her pa. I can’t say I ever pictured a woman deputy, but you did good, Stevie.”

No one had ever called him ‘Stevie’ before. It was a little thing, a nickname, but it thrilled him that Bucky would come up with one for him. Steve grinned at Bucky, and Bucky smiled back shyly before turning his attention to his coffee.

“Rogers!” a voice bellowed from outside.

Steve froze.

“Get your ass out here! You and me, we need to talk man to man!”

“Rumlow,” Bucky said grimly. His hand clenched into a fist. “You can’t go out there. There’s no way he’s not gonna shoot you.” His chair scratched against the floor as he stood hastily with Steve. He caught Steve by the sleeve. “Seriously. Don’t go out there.”

“What do you figure the odds are that he came alone?” Steve asked. He gently shook Bucky off. “You should go upstairs, Buck. You don’t need to get involved in this.”

“It’s my house,” Bucky said stubbornly. “I think I’m already involved.”

“If you really want to help, go upstairs and keep watch,” Steve insisted. Secretly, he wouldn’t have minded having Bucky as backup, but he was man enough to face his problems on his own head on. It didn’t help that Bucky’s gun arm was out of commission. It would be better to have him out of the way so that Steve didn’t have to worry that Bucky might be used for target practice. “I’ll take care of this.”

Bucky looked angry again but nodded sharply.

Relieved, Steve followed him upstairs to get his gun belt, then went down to meet Rumlow, who was still shouting and taunting him from outside.

“I didn’t think you were comin’,” Rumlow sneered when Steve opened the door. He was pacing the ground in front of the house while his gang sat on their horses a few yards back, laughing and joking among themselves. One of them held the lead for Rumlow’s horse. They’d stirred up a hell of a lot of dust riding in from town, but Steve thought he could make out a horse or two still coming up the way. Maybe Rumlow had more men than he’d known. He felt even guiltier for stepping into this mess and getting Bucky involved. “Thought you might be a coward.”

“I’m here. Say your piece and get,” Steve said evenly. He pulled the door shut behind him and hoped that Bucky had listened and stayed upstairs. “This is private property.”

Rumlow laughed uproariously. His men followed suit a beat later. “You’re a goddamn joker.”

“I mean it, Rumlow.”

“You know,” Rumlow said, “I had a bad feeling about you from the start. Didn’t I boys? I said, ‘That cowboy rode in and got one of ours killed. He’s bad news.’ I said that.” He started pacing again. “I even went to the mayor. ‘Mayor,’ I said, ‘if we welcome that stranger in, he’s gonna cause trouble.’ You don’t keep a rattlesnake for a pet.”

That was rich coming from Rumlow, Steve thought. He pointedly rested his hand on his gun belt, a quiet threat, and let Rumlow ramble on.

“What’d he do? He gave you a job! Responsibility! Beats me why, though. You’re gonna be the ruin of this town. You have to understand, Rogers, why I can’t let that happen.”

“That’s funny because it seems to me that you’re the problem here, Rumlow,” Steve said. “True, the mayor’s tried buying me out. I reckon he wants people around here to think he’s working for them without making any real changes. Unfortunately, I don’t have any intention of letting anyone dictate my morality. I’m not a gun for hire.”

Rumlow snarled and drew his pistol.

Steve inhaled sharply and reached for his gun quickly. He brought his arm up, aiming for Rumlow’s shoulder. Though the army had taught him to shoot to kill, he wanted to bring Rumlow in alive. There would be nothing more satisfying than having him stand trial for attempted murder, even if it would complicate Steve’s relationship with the mayor significantly further. He started to squeeze the trigger.

Steve’s breath was punched out of him, hard and fast. At first, irrationally, he thought that he’d been kicked in the gut again, but then his stomach started to feel hot. The heat radiated outward, reaching towards his hips and chest. With a surprised grunt, he stumbled forward, arm wavering as he squeezed the trigger. His gun fell from his hand as he got closer to the porch railing. He slumped bodily against the post, using it to prop himself up, and glanced down at his stomach. He’d been shot in the gut. He heard an odd noise and realized he was groaning.

“He killed him!” someone shouted.

Steve pressed his hands to his stomach, pressing against the blood welling there, hot and slick. There seemed to be a hell of a lot. Maybe, he thought, he was dying on Bucky’s porch.

With great effort, he picked his head up again to see where he’d hit Rumlow.

Rumlow was lying on his side. Even though Steve had aimed for his shoulder, he’d hit him in the chest. As Steve watched, one of Rumlow’s men rolled him onto his back, ear pressed to his chest to verify he was dead.

If they wanted to kill Steve for this, Steve wasn’t going to be able to stop them.

They seemed to think better of it, though. Despite several of the men drawing and riding closer to the house, a few quick shots in their direction discouraged them from approaching or firing. The warning shots were coming from the house, Steve realized. Bucky had a rifle up there, sounded like, and wasn’t a bad shot even with the wrong arm. He even managed to knock the hat off one man’s head.

The gang collected Rumlow’s body, all while loudly swearing they would pay Steve back, and hustled out of Bucky’s front yard.

It was almost comical. Steve tried to laugh but slid down onto the steps with a heavy thud instead. It felt like he bled faster at this new angle. He shivered. It really was a shame he was going to die here. He hated that Bucky was going to have to clean up that mess. But it wasn’t all that bad, he decided, feeling the urge to laugh again at the absurdity of it all. At least he’d gotten to kiss Bucky.


	10. Chapter 10

Steve was beginning to dread closing his eyes in Timely. He could never be sure how much time had passed while he was down. It was no different this time; he was in too much pain to attempt to sit up or move, so he settled for struggling to get his eyes open. It was more difficult than he expected, and he regretted it almost immediately. Sunlight poured through an open window. The light breeze felt good on his clammy skin, but the light made his head throb.

“Oh, thank God,” Bucky said from somewhere to Steve’s right. There was a lot of shuffling and a damp cloth pressed to Steve’s forehead. Bucky was washing his face for him. “Don’t try to move, Steve, I swear. I’m going to go get Bruce. You just lie here and breathe.”

“Wasn’t…planning on stopping,” Steve rasped.

Bucky made a noise that Steve thought might be a laugh. Steve listened to his footsteps hurry out of the room.

So he was in Bucky’s house again. Steve turned his head away from the window despite Bucky’s instructions, and wearily took stock of his surroundings. He was in Bucky’s room. He was too tired to figure why Bucky wouldn’t put Steve back in his own room. And how had Bucky managed to drag him into the house and up the stairs anyway?

Maybe minutes — or hours — later, Steve opened his eyes again to find the doctor looming over him, two fingers pressed against Steve’s neck. He hummed to himself, then turned the blankets down to lift Steve’s shirt.

“How are you feeling?” Banner asked gently. “Bucky, hand me the other bandages and that bowl. This is going to sting, Steve.”

“I’m…thirsty,” Steve decided. “Feels like…I got shot.”

“Your promises really do mean fuck all,” Bucky said. He slid a hand under Steve’s head and helped him sip at a cup of water. It was very warm from sitting in the sun. Steve was positive he’d never had anything better in his life.

“What?”

“You promised me you weren’t going to get hurt,” Bucky said. He stroked gently at Steve’s hair as Steve drank a little more water, then set the cup aside when Steve was too tired to keep drinking. He kept running his fingers through Steve’s hair.

“Didn’t,” Steve pointed out. He hissed. It felt like Bruce was setting his gut on fire. He looked down his nose and saw Bruce carefully pouring alcohol over Steve’s wound. Steve grit his teeth and tensed, doing his best to keep still so Bruce could finisher quicker.

“You came very close,” Bruce said. He kept pouring and cleaning Steve’s abdomen until, satisfied, he put down the bottle so he could dry Steve’s skin and pack on a new bandage. “Lucky for you, Miss Moonstar saw Rumlow gathering his boys and thought it was wise we make our way out here too.”

Steve hadn’t been imagining the other horse on the road, then. He’d just seen Dani and Banner riding to his rescue.

“Could’ve…been bad.”

“For us?” Banner asked. He paused a moment, then got back to work. “Yes. Perhaps. Bucky seemed to have it all well in hand, though. Even though I remember telling him to avoid strenuous activity until his arm healed.” This last was sterner and verged on a scolding.

Steve smiled. “Thank you.”

Banner affixed the end of the bandage and wiped his hands on a towel. “You’re out of the woods now, but I can’t stress enough how important it is that you rest and take the medicine I’ve left with Bucky. A gunshot is traumatic. Your body must have time to heal. I told Bucky all of this before, and I’ve reminded him again, but I have a feeling that I ought to be appealing to you, Steve.”

“I’ve been taking care of myself!” Bucky said, affronted. “I’ve been resting and everything, thanks to Steve.”

“Yes, well, now that Steve’s on bed rest, I’ll be going back home so you have another bed to yourself,” Banner said. He began moving around the room, packing up his bag. “Though I do, of course, thank you for your hospitality, Bucky.”

Ah, Steve thought. So that was why he was in Bucky’s room. Banner had taken his. He’d been in very bad shape, then.

“No, no,” Banner was saying. Steve forced himself to focus again on the conversation at hand. “You can stay up here with him now that he’s awake. I can see myself out. But don’t hesitate to fetch me if he takes a turn for the worse—not that I expect him to—or you have questions about anything.”

Bucky thanked Banner again and walked with him at least as far as the bedroom door. Steve missed Bucky’s hand in his hair. He’d been shot before, but he’d never had someone to dote on him afterwards.

“You must be out of it still,” Bucky said. “You’re smiling like anything. That’s not a normal reaction to getting shot in the stomach.” He sank down into a chair pulled up by the bed. He looked tired and worried. His eyes were even a little red in a way that made Steve think he might’ve cried a bit while he wasn’t sleeping. “You’ve been up here a few days. I really thought you weren’t gonna wake up.”

Steve licked at his dry lips. At least his throat wasn’t hurting quite as much since he’d had some water. “Told you I’d be fine.”

“You heard Bruce.”

“Rumlow died?” Steve asked instead of arguing the point. “I heard…”

“Yeah. You got him, good riddance.” Bucky rubbed absently at his arm. “Dani got some people together and they rounded up the others. She figured she ought to arrest them, so they’re sitting in the jail until you decide what you want to do about that.”

That was one problem solved. Of course, Steve had to assume Fisk would not be pleased by the news, but he was a politician. He wouldn’t publicly attack Steve over the incident. He’d be just as likely to undermine Steve in other ways. Well, he’d deal with the mayor after he could sit up on his own without keeling over.

“Wait,” he said, “your farm.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “What about it?”

“I can’t work.”

That was the whole point of their arrangement. If Steve couldn’t work in exchange for room and board, what good was he? He was just going to take up space and resources and Bucky would still have to struggle to keep things running, all while his debt and Fisk hanging over his head. He’d promised Bucky he’d help him keep the place.

“Steve—”

“Money.”

“What?”

“Fisk gave me money. Maybe enough for your debt?” It was in the other room, still in the box. Steve had taken a little of it to get food and supplies, but Fisk had been generous in attempting to buy Steve’s loyalty. He didn’t know how much Bucky owed, but what Steve had tucked away had to help.

“No, Stevie, listen to me. You don’t have to worry about that. Turns out, lots of folks heard what you did when Dani was rounding up a posse. I had a kid come by asking if he could help out seeing as how we’re both not up to snuff. We’re gonna talk about pay—he knows I don’t have a lot—but I think it’s gonna work out just fine.”

Steve listened quietly, thinking all of it through. Then he said, “I can pay for my room. Or go find a place in town.”

“You heard Bruce. You’re staying in bed.”

“But, Bucky…”

“But nothing.” Bucky leaned forward, crowding into Steve’s space. “You almost died. Again. It’s becoming clear to me that I can’t let you out of my sight. So I don’t intend to.”

Steve’s heart started to beat a little faster. “Yeah?”

“I know you said you weren’t looking to stay forever, but you’re welcome to stay with me as long as you want.” Bucky’s gaze softened and turned very fond. “Like I said before, this is just the beginning.” He kissed Steve, the lightest brush of his mouth on Steve’s. “Tell me if I’m wrong, but I thought you were interested in seeing where this goes.”

“I am,” Steve whispered.

Bucky smiled and kissed him again, briefly, before settling back into his chair. He picked up a stack of books from the nightstand and started looking through them. “I think I have Tom Sawyer in here somewhere. Want me to read to you?”

Steve felt warm again as he watched Bucky, but it wasn’t because of a bullet. As he studied the way the sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow on Bucky’s dark hair, it dawned on Steve that he liked being in Bucky’s house, in Bucky’s bed, with Bucky. He  _ really _ liked taking their meals together, and making Bucky laugh, and talking about adventure books in the evening. There was still plenty to discuss later, but—for the first time in a very long time, Steve felt peaceful, content. It was a start.

He smiled fondly at Bucky.

“What’s that look for?” Bucky asked, bemused. 

“I was just thinking,” Steve started. His voice sounded rough, but he waved away Bucky’s silent offer of more water. He cleared his throat. “Just—it's a hell of a start, being able to recognize what makes you happy.”


End file.
